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Good morning, Schoolmaster!” “Glad to see you, Miss McCabe." — p. 19. 




THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE 


AN 


IRISH STORY 


' 



BY 


CON T. MURPHY 

N 


Author of the following plays: 

“Ivy Leaf,” “Fairies’ Well,” “ Killarney,” 
“Gamekeeper,” Etc., Etc. 






































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J A/ n/ 

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4 X 







Copyright 1895, by Con T. Murphy 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 








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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Mill and the Sack 0’ Flour. 5 
II The Schoolmaster of Ballinamocht. 13 

III Shamus Roe. - - - 30 

IV The Partner. - - - 52 

V Little Danny. - - - - 66 

VI Snap- Apple Night. - - 75 

VII The Fairy’s Gift to Alice. - 108 

VIII The Haunted Chapel. - - 116 

IX Blind Man’s Buff. - - 131 

X Within the Chapel. - - 150 

XI The Marriage Record. - - 156 

* 

XII An Hour’s Triumph. - - 171 

XIII The Missing Leaf. - - 196 

XIV The Miller of Gtlanmire. - - 224 




THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE- 


AN IRISH STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MILL AND THE SACK o’ FLOUR. 

On the Lower Glanmire road, about four 
miles from the city of Cork, and within a 
stone’s throw of the river Lee, stands the 
flouring mill of Ronyane & Roe. A mill 
of no great pretensions, or large dimensions, 
but yet it does a thriving business. 

To the south of the mill, and from the 
hills in the west, flows a stream of water, 
deep, clear, and drinkable, which ends its 
rapid downward course in the beautiful river 
Lee, and is known as the “Millers’ Luck,” 
as it continuously turns the old mill wheel, 
and — like an Irishman when he has money — 
never goes dry, thereby turning many an 


6 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


honest shilling into the pocket of honest 
Jerry Roe, the miller. 

Opposite the mill, on a gentle eminence, 
you may read over the door of a low, 
thatched cabin, these words: “The Sack O’ 
Flour.” It is a Shebeen, or tap room, and, 
being the only one in the immediate neigh- 
borhood, where a poor boy can get a 
drop o’ mountain dew, many a hard earned 
shilling is exchanged for the “seducin’ 
crathur,” by Toby O’Keefe, or as he is 
called both near and far, “Smilin’ Tobe.” 

One bright morning in the fall of 1886, 
Jerry Roe was standing looking up the 
lane, or short cut as it is called, that leads from 
the middle, to the lower Glanmire road and 
past the old mill. He is a man of 55, 
with iron gray hair, hale and hearty, with 
an honest look in his large gray eyes, and an 
honest heart beating under his flour-covered 
waistcoat. Rich and poor honor and respect 
Jerry Roe, the miller of Glanmire. 

Outside the mill door, seated on a pile of 
sacks, reading the Cork Examiner, is a much 
younger man, perhaps 27 or 28 years of age, 
nearly six foot tall, with dark hair, a hand- 
some face, and the physique of an athlete. 


THE MILL AND THE SACK O’ FLOUR. 7 


This is Neil Brandon, the book-keeper and 
confidential man of the firm of Ronyane 

Roe. 

“Not a thing in sight,” said Roe, as he 
advanced towards Neil. “What’s the news 
this mornin’ Nale ? ” 

“Not a thing,” said Neil, “would you like 
to see the paper ?” offering it to him. 

“No, I’d rather see the wliate ; its not 
cornin’ as fast as I’d like ; I’m afeared we’ll be 
several barrels short on our order.” 

‘ ‘It’s only Monday morning” replied Neil 
rising. “The farmers will be coming in as 
thick as hops before the week is past.” 

4 ‘They can’t come too thick or fast for me, ” 
said Jerry, “but Nale, boy, don’t lave them 
go by. Empty their carts no matter how 
full they may be.” 

“Never fear, they’ll go home with empty 
carts, but pockets filled. ” 

“That’s right, Nale; that’s right, but’tis dry 
work waitin’ for them, so I think I’ll go in 
the Sack O’ Flour, an’ have a pint o’ porter.” 
As he got to the door, he turned to Neil, 
saying: “Won’t ye jine me boy?” 

“No, Mr. Roe, I might miss a bushel of 
wheat while I’m in the ‘Sack O’ Flour.’ By 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


the way, if you find Shamus in there, tell 
him I’m waiting for him. ” 

“Do ye mane to tell me,” and there was 
anger in Roe’s voice, “that he’s not at 
work this mornin’ ? ” 

“I haven’t set eyes on him as yet,” and 
Neil laughed. 

“Well, I’ll set the dogs on him,” said 
Jerry, as he left the Shebeen door, and 
looked up the lane. “Out hurleyin’ yester- 
day, I suppose, and maybe some one 
smashed his shins for him.” 

“More likely some one got their shins 
smashed by him,” said Neil. 

“No fear of Shamus ; why he’s one of 
the best hurlers in Ireland.” 

“I wish he was one o’ the best millers,” 
and Roe sighed, as much as to say, that’s 
a forlorn hope. While Jerry was look- 
ing up the short cut for sight of Shamus, 
or the load of whate, and Brandon had 
resumed reading his paper. There ap- 
peared at the door of the “Sack O’ Flour,” 
a queer piece of humanity, about five feet 
one in height, with a head of hair nearly 
the size of a shock of ripe oats, and 
about the same shade. Small, deen-set 


THE MILL AND THE SACK O’ FLOUR. 9 


eyes of changeable color, according to his 
humor, fat almost to obesity, his face clean 
shaven, red as a pipin, and round as the full 
moon. This was Toby O’Keefe, or Smilin’ 
Tobe, the landlord of the “Sack O’ Flour.” 
His glance was an angry one, as it rested 
on Neil Brandon, but a smile lighted up 
his big broad face as he saw Jerry Roe. 
Tobe could smile, and while he smiled, 
poison you with his liquor. He remained 
standing in his doorway until he saw Jerry 
turn to join Brandon, then he retired only 
to return, as Roe resumed his conversation. 
“Who knows, Nale, Shamus may become a 
miller yet, lie’s young and strong, an’ has a 
good chance in the mill. I don’t see any- 
thing to hinder him.” 

“I do,” said Neil rising and throwing his 
paper aside. 

“What is it Nale?” asked Roe. 

“That which has prevented many a young 
man in the neighborhood from doing good.” 
And Neil pointed to the “Sack O’ Flour.” 
Jerry Roe winced. It was his custom to visit 
the Shebeen shop three or four times a day, 
for the proverbial glass, or pint o’ porter. 

“I’m very dry, is there any water in the 


10 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 
mill,” asked Roe. 

“Plenty of it,” replied Neil, “fresh and 
clear. Take my word for it, one draught of 
it will do you more good than all the porter 
in Smilin’ Tobe’s cursed shop.” 

“I think I’ll try a taste of it,” said Jerry 
as he entered the mill. O’Keefe, who had 
been listening, advanced toward Neil with a 
wicked light in his sunken eyes, and said: 
“One good turn desarves another, Mr. Nale 
Brandon. ” 

“That has always been my motto, Mr. 
Tobe O’Keefe” replied Neil. 

“It might be my turn to-morrow. I may 
surprise ye.” 

“By doing a good turn,” and Neil smiled; 
4 ‘that would be a surprise, not only to me, 
but to the neighbors.”. 

“What would ? ” sneered Tobe. 

“To see you do’ a good turn for anyone.” 

“I could drive many a farmer away from 
the mill dure wid his cart full o’ good 
whate, ” snarled Tobe. 

‘ ‘It’s many a one you’ve driven from your 
own door, with his skin full of bad whisky,” 
said Neil as he walked towards the mill. 

“Oh, yer good at preachin’,” said Tobe 


THE MILL AND THE SACK O’ FLOUR. 11 


following liim. “’Tis a great pity yer not 
in orders. ” 

“It is lucky for you that I am not,” re- 
plied Neil, turning on him. “If I were in 
orders, let me tell you what my next Sun- 
day’s discourse would be. I would advise 
the people to burn the Sack O’ Flour to the 
ground; and afterwards, drive you far beyond 
the precincts of Grianmire, to return at your 
peril. ” 

Tobe laughed. It was a hard, dry laugh, 
and had the effect of the report of a fowling 
piece, on the birds perched on the trees near 
by, for on hearing it, they stopped singing, 
and took to flight, while Tobe all unconsious 
of the havoc he had created among the 
feathery tribe, almost screamed into the ears 
of Brandon: “Ye wouldn’t dare. If ye wor 
the Bishop himself, I’d defy ye. I’ve my 
lase o’ the Sack O’ Flour, and I pay my 
license.” 

“Yes,” replied Neil with a sigh. “The 
lease and the license has made many a 
home desolate, broken many a heart.” 

“Bah ! ” And Smilin’ Tobe snapped his fin- 
ger and thumb. “Broken hearts, or broken 
heads, is the one to me, as long as there’s 


12 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


liquor galore in the Sack O’ Flour. Keep 
yer sentiment, Mr. Kale Brandon, for yer 
wather drinkin’ friends ’tis out o’ place wid 
me.” And with a repetition of his laugh, 
but not within hearing of the birds, he 
entered his den. 

“Heartless scoundrel,” said Neil resuming 
his seat on the sacks. “Atwater-drinking 
friends in this neighborhood are few and 
far between. More’s the pity. ” 


CHAPTER II. 


THE SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 

A short distance from Cork on the upper 
Glanmire road is the little village of Ballin- 
amocht. I hardly think you will find it on 
the map, as it is too insignificant to be recog- 
nized among the many beautiful suburbs of 
the second city in Ireland. There is nothing 
of especial interest to the tourist as he passes 
through the village on his way to Carigtoohill, 
or Middleton, save, indeed, it may be the mass 
of juvenile humanity by which he is assailed, 
as they crowd around his side car, with the 
cry: “Sur, sur, if ye plaze, would ye give us 
a pinny, to pay the schoolmaster for the eddi- 
cation,” or “mam would yer ladyship throw 
a hay -pinny on the road for to buy a prim- 
mer wid the A B C’s in it,” and indeedit 


14 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


is many’s the penny that is placed in the 
dirty hand of a Tim, or Mike, or Bryan, to 
pay for the eddication, and many the half- 
penny thrown on the road to be scrambled 
for by the unruly ragamuffins, thus enabling 
the donor to pass along, and avoid the fur- 
ther importunities of these young toll-gath- 
erers. 

But the penny does not pay for the 
eddication, nor does the liay-penny buy the 
primmer. Oh, no ; the coppers immediately 
find their way into the cabin of Mrs. Bridget 
Fay, and are there exchanged for taffy and 
gingerbread, which the youngsters devour 
on the side of the road with evident gusto, 
while they impatiently wait for their next 
victim. 

A painter seeking the picturesque, 
would pass through Ballinamocht, without 
unstrapping his easel. There is nothing 
there to catch the eye of the artist. Its fif- 
teen or twenty small dilapidated thatched 
cabins, or its few scattered cottages, each 
one with its little plot of ground, where long 
since the flower has given way to the weed, 
would be too commonplace to be transferred 
to canvas, yet within those thatched cabins, 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 15 


and neglected cottages, dwell a God-fearing 
people, for no Sunday passes that they do 
not trudge many a mile, some of them bare- 
footed, to hear His blessed word, there being 
no chapel in the village. 

Poor, ’tis true, too poor to waste the time 
in exterminating the weed, so that the flow- 
er might thrive. Those who are fortunate 
enough to be able to rent an acre, or so, 
work late and early, among the pota- 
toe, the turnip, or the cabbage, while those 
who have no acre, work in the peat bog, 
or wherever the day’s work may be had, to 
keep the humble roof over their loved ones 
heads, the bite and sup in their mouths. The 
neatest looking cottage in the village, is that 
of the schoolmaster, Tyler McCabe. There 
and only there, are the flowers not neglected. 
The schoolmaster’s household, consists of 
himself, his daughter Hannora, and Nancy 
the 4 ‘ould mare, ” whom Tyler loves almost as 
well as he does Hannora. He is a man past 
the half century, tall and angular, with a 
pale, oval face, full of determination, light 
blue eyes, and a bald head, which materially 
aids a lofty brow. Eight years previous to 
our introducing him, his wife died, leaving 


16 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


to his care their only child Hannora, now a 
buxom maiden of two-and-twenty, good-nat- 
ured, good-hearted, and good-tempered, but 
not a beauty. 

“Ah!” her father would say, as she sat 
by the window, with its pretty chintz 
curtains, knitting, or plying the needle, as 
the case may be. ‘ ‘Ah ! how ye remind me of 
yer dear mother, sitting there, yer her very 
image, barrin’ her raven hair, an’ her eyes of 
sloe. ” 

“Father dear,” Hannora would reply, “ ’tis 
a great comfort to me that I remind ye of 
my mother in Heaven. But sure ’tis no fault 
o’ mine, if my hair is red, an my eyes are 
blue, ’tis a blessin bestowed upon me I think, 
for I’m fond o’ colors, an red an blue matches 
my complexion so well, ” and Hannora would 
laugh, a soft musical laugh. “But what’s the 
harm; sure what I lack in good looks, I can 
make up in good deeds,” and so she did, for 
while Tyler and Nancy were working the 
four acres of rented ground to the north of 
the schoolmaster’s cottage, Nora McCabe 
was ministering to the wants of Mrs. Maloney 
who was down wid the fayver, or rubbing 
liniment into the shoulder of Mrs, Fagin who 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 17 


couldn’t move her arm with the rheumatism; 
or if not attending the sick and suffering, is 
taking care of Mrs. Twohey’s twins, while 
that good woman is doin’ the bit o’ wasliin 
for the ten childre, and the ould man. Sun- 
down always finds Hannora in her own neat, 
snug kitchen, singing like a bird, while she 
prepares the evening meal for herself and 
father at the same time. After a hard day’s 
work, the schoolmaster is engaged in rubbing 
Nancy down a bit, previous to making her a 
bed of nice clean straw, while Nancy, poor 
baste, is regailing herself with a manger full 
of hay, and a small taste of oats. After the 
tea things are put away in the dresser, and 
Tyler has finished his second pipe, father 
and daughter adjourn to the barn in the 
rear of the cottage. For it is under the 
same roof with Nancy, the boys and 
girls of Ballinamocht and the country 
near by are taught the readin’ and the 
writin’ at the night school of Tyler Mc- 
Cabe. The barn or schoolroom, if you 
please, is about sixteen foot square. It’s 
furniture consists of a blackboard hanging on 
the wall ; five or six rough benches without 
backs, a chair and small table for the school- 


18 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


master. Suspended from the ceiling is an 
iron hoop, to which is attached eight sconces, 
and in each sconce is a piece of tallow candle. 
The illuminating is attended to by Con Fagin, 
for which service he gets his lamin’ gratis. 
Here every night at 8, except Saturday 
and Sunday, sits Nora McCabe, with primer 
in hand, teaching the juvenile feminine gen- 
der their A B C’s, A B, Ab’s, and I B lb’s, 
while the schoolmaster plys the chalk on the 
face of the blackboard, or the switch on the 
backs of the unruly boys, from the puny strip- 
ling of eight or nine, to the robust full-grown 
boy of five-and-twenty. (You are always a 
boy in Ireland until you are married.) On 
the morning of the day our story begins, 
Tyler was up bright and early, and after 
partaking of a hearty breakfast, put the har- 
ness on Nancy, and hitched her to the two 
wheeled cart, inside of which was four sacks 
of wheat, and seated on the sacks Hannora, 
dressed in her best, while Tyler piloted Nancy 
down the short cut, to pay his respects and 
dispose of his wheat to Jerry Roe, the miller 
of Glanmire. A moment after Smilin’ Tobe 
had retired laughing into the Sack O’ Flour, 
and just as Brandon resumed his seat at the 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 19 


mill door, Hannora’ s voice was heard a short 
distance up the lane cautioning her father: 

4 4 Take care where you’re drivin’ or ye’ll have 
us in the mill strame.” 

“Nancy, are you blind, that ye can’t see 
the road; ye’ll be fed in a minute,” said 
Tyler, as he drew rein in front of the 
mill door. 

“Here we are at Jerry Roe’s ! ” 

4 ‘Good morning Schoolmaster ! Glad to see 
you Miss McCabe,” said Neil, as he arose 
and saluted them. 

“Same to you Nale,” replied Hannora. 

“Allow me to assist you, Miss McCabe,” 
and Neil approached Hannora with out- 
stretched arms, as if he expected her to fall 
into them. 

“Lave her alone man! Youth needs no 
assistance,” said Tyler. “’Tis ould age that 
requires help.” And Hannora, ignoring 
Neil, jumped to the ground. While he, 
with a “I beg your pardon,” assisted the 
schoolmaster to alight from the cart. 

“My legs are as stiff a poker,” said Han- 
nora as she straightened up. 

“Ah ! Sure the cart is as aisy as a jauntin’ 
car,” replied Tyler, as he patted Nancy’s 


20 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


neck. 44 ’Tis poor Nancy that should be 
stiff, from the long walk, the rough roads, 
and ” 

“The slow gait,” laughed Hannora. 

“She’s not as young as you are, God help 
her,” said Tyler, laughing. 

“Nale boy I have in the cart, four as fine 
sacks o’ wheat as ever was threshed in the 
county. Call a couple o’ the boys to take it 
in the mill, while I give Nancy a feed.” 

Neil called two of the men from the mill 
to unload the wheat from the cart, while 
Tyler busied himself unhitching Nancy, and 
turning her around, so that her head was 
where her tail should be, untied a small 
bundle of hay in the cart, and told her to 
“ate her male in pace.” 

4 4 Ain’t Shamus in the mill ? ” asked Han- 
nora. 

4 4 No,” answered Neil, “He has not been 
here this morning.” 

“Oh! I suppose not,” and Nora pouted, 
“Off gallavantin’ yesterday, an’ to-day he’s 
tired.” 

4 4 Ah, poor fellow,” said Neil, 4 ‘Sunday is 
the only day he has to enjoy himself.” 

“I don’t blame him much,” and there was 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 21 


pity in Nora’s voice, “for he’s there in that 
ould mill all the week, wid his lungs full o’ 
flour.” 

“And his heart full of love,” laughed Neil. 

“Oh ! I don’t doubt it a bit,” said Hannora. 
“ ’Tis a wonder to me that he don’t bust wid 
the love that’s in him. Yesterday morniiT, 
whin my father an’ myself was going to mass, 
who should I spy in Grady’s barn, dancin’ a 
four-handed reel but Mary and Nancy Grady, 
Con. Fagan, and Shamus Roe, wid sorra the 
music, fiddle, or pipes, savin Sliamus himself 
liltin’.” 

“What, before chapel,” asked Neil in as- 
sumed horror. 

“Yis, my father didn’t see him then, but 
whin we were goin’ home, after Mass, for- 
ninst us in the Borheen, wid a hurley on his 
shoulder, was Shamus. 4 Oh ! ’ says I, wid a 
prayer, not thinking my father heard me, 
4 Shamus, Shamus, how can ye wid the dance, 
an’ the hurley, break this blessed day? ’ ” 

“Twould be a blessin’ if he’d break his 
neck,” said my father, who caught sight of 
Shamus as he was jumpin’ over a hedge into 
the next field. 

“Perhaps that would be a blessing to the 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


poor boy,” said Neil, “as you’ve already 
broken liis heart.” 

“Is it me, Nale? Are ye in arnest?” 

“Indeed I am. He told me so.” 

“Well, that’s the first thing I ever broke in 
my life, savin’ some crockery ware, an’ I’m 
always breakin’ them.” With a sly glance at 
Neil: “De ye think it could be mended Nale?” 

“You might try.” 

“I will,” laughed Nora, “I can mend most 
anything, I’ve never tried my hand at a 
heart, but Nale tell him from me, that he 
must try to mend his ways, before I try to 
mend his heart,” and with a laugh full of 
music, Nora ran to Jerry Roe, who was stand- 
ing in the mill door. 

“Ah! Hannora,” said the miller with ex- 
tended hands, “an how is every bit o’ ye?” 

“Purty well, thank ye, Mr. Roe, an’ so is my 
father.” 

“Wislia, Tyler,” and Jerry clasped the 
schoolmaster’s hand, ‘ ‘ ’tis like a look at the 
harvest moon to see ye. How is the baste?” 

“Tired Jurry, tired, but a rest will show 
all her fine points again.” Tyler really imag- 
ined that poor, broken, down Nancy possessed 
some fine points. 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 23 


“It will, Tyler; it will,” and Jerry pat- 
ted tlie faithful old animal on the back, then 
turning to Hannora, “The Lord save ye 
Hannora, ’tis the rosey color ye have in yer 
cheeks, an’ ’tis as supple as a fawn yer lookin. ” 

“Well, Mr. Roe, ’tis not as supple as a fawn 
I’m f eelin’. My legs are that stiff I can hardly 
walk. ” 

“Ah! sure, dear, if ye can’t walk, take a 
run in the garden wid Alice. That’ll put yer 
joints in good order.” 

‘ Ts she at home ? ” 

“Oh, indeed she is, God bless her, ” answered 
Jerry. 

“Then, I’ll go and see her,” with a sly look 
at Neil, “As I have to borry a needle.” 

“Yerra, for what?” asked Tyler. 

“I have a job of mendin’ to do.” 

“Why didn’t ye attend to it before ye left 
home,” said her father. 

“I didn’t know it needed it then.” 

“What is it at all,” and Tyler removed his 
well-worn coat to examine it. 

“Oh! sure it isn’t yer coat father, ’tis only 
a young man’s heart.” And turning Nora 
sauntered up the lane, singing “Love’s Young 
Dream,” while Neil Brandon watched her 


24 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


until she entered a pretty vine-covered cot- 
tage, where for the present, dwelt the beauty 
of Glanmire, Alice Moyne. 

“Tell me, Jerry,” said the schoolmaster, 
after Nora had gone, “De ye think she has 
him ? ” 

“Who?” inquired Jerry. 

“Why, Nale, of course.” 

4 ‘No, ” replied the miller. ‘ ‘ ’Twould take 
more than a needle an’ thread to mend his 
heart. ” 

“Would it now?” said Tyler interested. 

“What would it take ? ” 

“Whisper,” and the miller looked mysteri- 
ously at Neil. “ ’Twould take the two eyes of 
Alice Moyne. ” 

“Oh ! ah ! um ! Yis ! ” and the schoolmaster 
winked at the miller. Then they nudged 
each other and looked at Neil, who was in a 
quandary to know why they were gazing at 
him and whispering. His thoughts were in- 
terrupted, however, by Roe telling him to go 
into the mill, measure the wheat, and bring 
the money to Mr. McCabe. 

“Aline looking lad,” said Tyler, as Neil 
entered the mill. 

“An’ as good as he’s good lookin’,” replied 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 25 


Jerry. “Honest as the snn, an’ sober as Nancy 
beyant. Never touches a sup.” 

“Talkin’ o’ sups, Jerry, a small taste won’t 
hurt us,” and the schoolmaster pointed to the 
rustic bench and small table, near the door 
of the Sack O’ Flour. “Come.” 

“No, thank ye, Schoolmaster, there’s plenty 
wather in the mill. ” 

4 ‘It requires wather to run it, ” replied Tyler. 

“But I require something stronger after 
my ride. Why man, I’m shiverin’ like a lafe 
in November .Come and sit down.” 

Remembering Neil’s word about Tobe’s 
cursed porter, Jerry cast a frightened look 
towards the mill, and then reluctantly took 
a seat opposite the schoolmaster. 

“Here Tobe, ye villian,” shouted the peda- 
gogue, knocking his knuckles on the table. 
“Where are ye?” No need to ask — Smilin’ 
Tobe stood at McCabe’s elbow. He was 
always on the alert for a cash customer, and 
knowing Tyler was ready money, greeted him 
in the most obsequious manner. “The top o’ 
the mornin’ to ye, Mr. McCabe,” and then the 
usual inquiry: “Wliat’11 it be gentlemen?” 

“Two pints o’ porter,” ordered Jerry. 

Tyler objected. “You may drink porter 


26 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


Jerry, but I’ll have a noggin o’ spirits to 
warm me up a bit.” Smilin’ Tobe entered 
the inn to fill the order. 4 4 I must see Maurice 
Ronyane,” continued Tyler, “in regard to 

the school. I must have protection or ” He 

was interrupted by Tobe with the liquids. 
“Here we are, gintlemen,” and Tobe placed 
on the table two mugs of porter, a small glass 
of whisky and another of water. 

“That extra porter was’nt ordered,” said 
Tyler, as he handed Tobe some money. Tobe 
counted it, then raised the mug of porter, 
and said “Yer very good health, schoolmaster. 
I’ll drink this and it’ll make the change 
right. ” 

4 ‘See here O’Keefe, ” angrily replied the 
schoolmaster, “If I must pay for medicine 
for my health, I’ll pay the doctor. ” 

4 4 Oh ! Mr. Roe will ye listen to him, ” laughed 
Tobe. “He always will have his fun,” and 
Tobe drank the porter. “Now gentlemen to 
make amends, ye’ll have a taste wid me,” 
and without waiting for an affimative or a 
negative, he hastened after the taste. 

“Ye must drink it now,” said Jerry, “if it 
drowns ye. ” 

“De ye think he’ll put wather enough in 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 27 


it ? ” asked Tyler. 

4 ‘Isn’t lie going to trate ? ” 

“So lie said.” 

“Well ye’ll get no clear liquor at liis ex- 
pense,” said the miller. “But tell me, Tyler, 
in regard to the school, what de ye mane by 
protection; are the boys troublesome.” 

“They are Jerry. The other evenin’, Mike 
Dooley came late, as usual. ‘Come here Mike, 
says I, ’till I make an example o’ ye. Hould 
out yer hand, I want to take the measure of it 
with this rule. ” He didn’t stir. ‘Give me yer 
hand, Mike, says I.’” 

“An’ did he ? ” 

“Oh, indeed, he did; the full flat of it on 
my face.” 

“Ah! the villain,” exclaimed Jerry, he 
ought to ” 

‘ ‘Once more, gintlemen, ” said Smilin’ Tobe, 
as he placed the poison on the table. “Now 
ye can drink my health.” 

“Thank ye, O’Keefe,” and contempt shone 
in the schoolmaster’s eyes. “That’s a privi- 
lige ye don’t often accord to yer customers.” 

“Your money, Schoolmaster,” said Neil, as 
he came from the mill. “Three pounds- 
three and sixpence.” Which amount he 


28 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


placed in McCabe’s hand. 

“Thank ye, Nale, boy,” and Tyler counted 
the money. “Hallo !” As he handed a note 
to Jerry. “There’s a pound note that’s seen 
service, ’tis nearly torn in two.” 

“Ah! sure,” said Smilin’ Tobe, as he 
looked at the note, over the miller’s shoulder. 
“ ’Tis as good as whate.” 

“Why wouldn’t it,” said Tyler. “Sure, 
that’s what I got it for — whate ! ” 

There was a general laugh at Tobe’s ex- 
pense. 

“That’s odd,” exclaimed Jerry, as he ex- 
amined the note. 

“What’s odd?” Came in chorus from the 
others. 

“ Three thousand , three hundred and thirty - 
three” replied the miller, giving the num- 
bers on the note. 

“I wish I had as many of them as these 
numbers on it,” laughed the schoolmaster. 

“There’s luck in odd numbers,” chimed in 
Smilin’ Tobe. 

“Ye’d better take this one, Mr. McCabe. 
Sure, I’ll take it for refreshments, if it 
should become oneasy in yer pocket.” 

“This one, I’ll never become aisy, or onaisy 


SCHOOLMASTER OF BALLINAMOCHT. 29 

in your pocket, Mr. O’Keefe, give it to me 
Jerry.” 

“No Tyler,” the miller handed the note to 
Neil. “Nale, hoy, bring the schoolmaster a 
whole one, an’ mind that.” Neil entered the 
mill with the torn one pound note number- 
ed Three thousand , three hundred and thirty- 
three . At the same moment, a voice was 
heard some distance up the short cut, sing- 
ing the “Rakin Paudeen Rhue.” 

44 ’Tis Shamus come at last,” said Tobe, and 
the smile broadened on his ruddy face. 

‘ 4 ’Tis last he always comes, ” and Jerry Roe 
frowned, while the owner of the voice came 


nearer. 


CHAPTER III. 


SHAMUS EOE. 

Still singing (and he could sing) there 
entered upon the scene a young man, dressed 
in a neat fitting courduroy coat, with cap to 
match, light colored knee-breeches and leg- 
gins. In appearance he is rather above the 
medium height, powerfully built, and strong 
as an ox, which fact many of the boys, in and 
near Glanmire, will vouch for. He is about 
25 years of age, with dark brown hair, 
cut close to the head, while his eyes are gray 
as the dawn of day, and his mouth is made 
for laughter. Such is Shamus Roe, the sweet- 
est singer, the finest dancer, the best hurler, 
the greatest wrestler, and the biggest divil 
among the girls in all Glanmire. Shamus 
knew very little of a father’s or mother’s love. 


SHAMUS ROE. 


31 


The worthy woman who gave him birth died 
when he was bnt 5 years old, and his 
father, a u ne’r do well” soon after left for the 
gold fields of America, where all trace of him 
was lost. Thus it was that Jerry Roe, his 
father’s brother, being childless himself, took 
little Shamus to his heart and home. At 12 
years old, the boy was sent to a public school 
in Cork. Jerry loved the lad, and had great 
hope of his advancement. “Vain hope.” 
Shamus soon tired of the school, and in the 
morning instead of going to Cork, he would 
only go as far as the brickfields, where with 
a few companions, older than himself, they 
would disport for hours in the clear water of 
the River Lee. So it was that he became 
very proficient in swimming, but very defi- 
cient in book learning. At 18 he was 
put in the mill, but like the school, it had 
very few charms for him. He would weary 
of the noise and bustle, and devote more of 
his time to the Sack O’ Flour, than he would 
to the sack o’ wheat. As may be surmised, 
Shamus on this particular morning was in 
dire disgrace with his uncle, as he came along 
the lane expatiating in song, on the many 
virtues of “Rakin Paudeen Rliue.” When 


82 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


the “Vagabone” as the miller was pleased to 
call him, saw Nancy, he greeted her with not 
an over gentle prod in the side, at the same 
time asking the poor baste: 4 ‘How is every 
morsel o’ ye ? ” 

“Oh! will ye look at him ! ” exclaimed Jerry, 
“wid his best shoot o’ clothes on him, an’ this 
Monday. ” 

“Shamus,” shouted the schoolmaster. 

4 ‘Oh ! the Lord save ye this fine mornin’, 
Mr. McCabe,” said Shamus, still tickling 
Nancy. 

“Shamus, don’t interfere with the aitin’ of 
Nancy.” 

“I won’t, sur; if there’s anyone hungry 
enough to stomach it.” 

4 ‘Stomach what ? ” asked the schoolmaster. 

“The aitin’ of Nancy,” and Shamus looked 
serious. 

‘ ‘Shamus Roe, lave her ait her oats in pace. ” 

“Oats!” and the vagabond looked in the 
cart. “Ah, wisha, schoolmaster, ’tis the 
smooth tongue ye have in yer head, an’ how 
Nancy, the poor crathur, must trust ye.” 

“She does Shamus, she does,” and Tyler 
looked proudly at Nancy. 

“Oh ! she must,” said Shamus, as he took 


SHAMUS ROE. 


33 


a handful of hay from the cart, “When ye 
can feed her on hay, an’ make her believe 
’tis oats, now I dare say, as teachin’ is yer 
trade,” and he approached the schoolmaster, 
“that ye could make me believe 

“No I could’nt,” said McCabe, “yer beyant 
me. ” 

“Maybe I could,” exclaimed Jerry, as he 
stepped forward.” 

“Oh! the Lord save us,” and Shamus was 
about to take to his heels. 

“Stay where ye are,” roared the miller, 
and Shamus became a statue, while Jerry 
continued sarcastically: “’Tis glad I am to 
see ye, an’ tis welcome ye are.” 

“Thank ye kindly Uncle Jurry,”and Sham- 
us, thinking the miller really meant it, offered 
his hand, which the man of flour ignored. 

“Where wor ye from yer work this morn- 
in’?” 

Shamus not ready with an answer, stam- 
mered, “Oh! is it where was I this mornin’, 
is it ? ” 

“Yis, that’s it, where wor ye?” 

“Oh! this mornin’, well ye see — Ah! uncle 
Jurry, will ye mind how forgetful I am, I 
forgot to ax the schoolmaster, how is Han- 


34 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


nora ? ” 

“Never mind Hannora,” replied Jerry, 

‘ ‘She’s well, where wor ” 

“I’m glad she’s well,” interrupted Sliamus, 
“for I always had a great regard for Han- 
nora, an’ if Hannora ” 

“What kep’ ye from yer work?” persisted 
his uncle. 

“Ah! uncle Jurry, don’t make me praise 
myself before the schoolmaster for an act o’ 
charity I done this mornin’. He might tell 
Hannora. An’ so she’s well Mr. McCabe. ” 

“In the name of all that’s good and bad,” 
and the miller was loosing his temper, 4 ‘ Wliat 
act o’ charity did you do this mornin’ ? ” 

‘ ‘Will ye listen to him, schoolmaster ! Sure 
self praise is half 'scandal, an’ you know my 
modesty,” and the modest vagabond hung his 
head. 

“Yis, modesty is a great failin’ o’ yours 
Sliamus,” replied Tyler, “but come, tell us 
what did ye do. Out with it.” 

“Ah, poor cratliur, poor crathur! whim- 
pered Shamus. 

“What poor creature?” inquired Tyler. 

“Mrs. Mulcahy!” answered Shamus, with 
tears in his voice. 


SHAMUS ROE. 


85 


“A very dacent ould woman,” said Jerry, 
his wrath against Shamus evidently some- 
what appeased. ‘ ‘What ails her ? ” 

“Ah! poor dacent onld woman, as uncle 
Jurry says, struck wid the rheumatism in her 
right side, last night; an’ as I was cornin’ to 
my work this mornin’, she was screechin’, an’ 
bawlin’ for some one, so in I goes an’ there — ” 

‘ ‘It could’nt have been a very severe attack, ” 
interrupted Tyler. “I saw her about two 
hours ago as lively as a cricket, huntin’ an’ 
ould lame cow down the road.” 

“Bad luck to you, an’ the cricket,” was the 
mental prayer of Shamus. “I must try an- 
other story,” and turning to Tyler as if very 
much surprised. “Yerra schoolmaster dear. 
Do ye mane to tell me, that she’s out 
again ? ” 

“I saw her with my two eyes, I tell ye,” 
answered Tyler. 

“An’ her dyin’ wid the rheumatism, the 
poor crature,” sorrowfully sobbed Shamus. 

“What poor crature is dyin’ wid the rheu- 
matism?” impatiently asked Jerry. “Is it 
Mrs. Mulcahy ? ” 

“No, ’tis the cow,” sniveled Shamus, wiping 
the mock tear from his eyes, while the miller 


36 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


and schoolmaster exchanged glances. “Ye 
see whin I wint in, for the love o’ mercy says 
Mrs. Mulcahy, (poor dacent ould woman) for 
the love o’ mercy, Shamus, says she, run after 
her.” “Who ma’am?” says I. “The cow, ’’says 
the poor dacent ould woman, she’s wild, an’ 
so she was, the poor crathure, wid the pain in 
her right side, from the rheumatism. So, at 
Mrs. Mulcahy’s biddin’, after her, I goes, over 
hedges, an’ ditches, through fields an’ bogs, 
an’ her runnin wid the rheumatism in her 
left side. At last I kem up wid her, an’ druv 
her home. It was a charity to do it, for Mrs. 
Mulcahy had no milk for her tay an’ ” 

“I’m af eared, Shamus, that milk story has 
a good dale o’ wather in it,” laughed the 
schoolmaster. 

“Ah ! the poor crathure,” innocently re- 
plied Shamus. “Maybe the rheumatism in 
her shoulder run her dry. I left her at the 
pump when I kem away.” 

“ ’Tis under the pump some one should 
have left you,” said Jerry. “Where wor 
ye yesterday, huntin’ a cow ? ” 

“No,” replied the schoolmaster, “huntin’ 
the ball. I saw him lep a hedge with a hur- 
ley on his shoulder. Don’t deny it Shamus.” 


SHAMUS ROE. 


37 


1 ‘Is it me ?” said Shamus, in an injured tone. 
“All ! sure Mr McCabe, you know, I "wouldn’t 
tell a lie to you, or Uncle Jerry.” 

4 4 Aliem ! No, of course not ; but then we’ve 
just had a taste o’ yer milk.” 

“Oh! lave him alone, schoolmaster,” said 
Jerry, with a tinge of sarcasm. 44 ’Tis crame 
he’ll be given us next.” 

“Divil a word o’ lie, I’ll tell ye,” said Sha- 
mus proudly. “It was G-lanmire against Bal- 
linamocht, an’ from the minute the ball wint 
up, for two hours, ’twas no man’s battle,” and 
suiting the action to the word, Shamus con- 
tinued : “Here an’ there an’ everywhere. 
One moment on yer heels, the nixt on yer 
head, lielter skelter across the field, an’ back 
again, trip an’ fall, rise an’ kick, but never 
home. ” 

“Yis, man, yis, but tell me did ye bate 
them,” asked Jerry excitedly. 

“Did we bate them ? Out o’ the field an’ off 
the road.” 

“De ye mane to tell me that ye laid hands 
upon them,” asked Tyler. 

“We’d scorn to do it,” replied Shamus. 
“Is it Glanmire do a mane turn, no sur. 
Maybe there was a head or two broken, or a 


38 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


few shins scraped, but ’twas from foot or 
hurley. The sorras the much time they had 
to look at their wounds, ’till we drove them 
beyant the haunted chapel, in the Lovers’ 
Lane. ” 

‘ ‘The usual results of not keepin’ the Lord’s 
day, as it should be kept, ” and Tyler looked 
serious, as he said: “What will be the result 
of this ? ” 

“I dunno, sur!” replied Shamus, ’til we 
resume our divarshun nixt Sunday.” 

“Ye’ll find a lot o’ divarshun in the mill 
for the rest o’ the week, an’ I’ll keep my eye 
on ye nixt Sunday, but for this mornin’s 
work, I’ll chalk a days pay down again ye, ” 
said Jerry as he entered the mill. 

“Oh! indeed, if that’s all that’ll be chalked 
down agin me, I’ll be safe enough,” laughed 
Shamus. 

“Shamus,” said the schoolmaster kindly, 
“Ye must stop this kind of work. Avoid 
the Sack O’ Flour, an’ stick to the mill.” 

4 ‘ Arrah ! schoolmaster dear, how can I 
avoid the Sack O’ Flour if I stick to the 
mill,” asked Shamus innocently. 

“Ye know very well that I don’t mane for 
ye to avoid the sack that contains the flour.” 


SHAMUS ROE. 


39 


“Ye mane the one that contains the 
whisky. Well, sur,” said Shamus scratch- 
ing his head, “it isn’t many loaves Tobe 
O’Keefe’s Sack O’ Flour makes for a poor 
boy.” 

“True for ye, Shamus; but ’tis many a 
loaf the poor boy makes for Tobe O’Keefe.” 

“Well, Mr. McCabe, although huntin’ that 
cow wid the rheumatism in her right side, 
made me pretty dry, I’ll take yer advice. 
I’ll make no more loaves for Smilin’ Tobe. 
I’m done wid the drink. ” 

* ‘I’m glad of it, ” and the kind old school- 
master patted the vagabond on the back. 

“And so am I,” said a voice at his elbow. 
Shamus turned to greet a being, fair as an 
Irish May morning, tall, slender and grace- 
ful. A mass of shining raven hair crowns 
her well poised head, while her eyes, dark 
as a starless night, and bright as the light- 
ning’s flash, looks from beneath a broad fore- 
head, from which the silken locks are care- 
fully brushed. A rare vision of loveliness 
is Alice Moyne, as with red parted lips, she 
looks into the face of Shamus, as she ex- 
claims : “And so am I ! ” 

“And so am I ! ” chimed in Hannora. 


40 


THE MILLER OP GLANMIRE. 


“Well, if it comes to that,” said Shamus, 
“An’ so am I. My schoolmaster, will ye 
look — two angels as sponsors to the pledge.” 
The two girls had returned from their run in 
the garden just as Shamus had promised 
the schoolmaster he’d drink no more. 

“I hope you’ll keep your word Shamus,” 
said Alice Moyne, as she placed her small 
white hand, in the broad palm of the future 
abstainer. 

“An’ so do I ! ” said Hannora. 

‘ ‘An’ so do I ! ” echoed Shamus. 

“What did you say?” asked the school- 
master. 

“I said if I did’nt I’d lie,” answered truth- 
ful Shamus; “but come, the dockiment is 
ready for the sales of the sponsers.” 

“Arrah! What dockiment?” asked Han- 
nora. 

“The pledge,” replied Shamus, with a 
wink at the schoolmaster. 

‘ ‘ ’Tis upon my two lips', an’ waitin’ to be 
stamped.” 

“Oh! ye villain,” laughed Tyler, “Come 
girls seal it, stamp it, or it’ll spoil; kiss him,” 
and at the schoolmaster’s bidding, the vaga- 
bond receives the stamps, from as pretty a 


SHAMUS ROE. 


41 


quartette of lips, as you’d find in a day’s 
walk. 

“Remember Shamus,” said Alice, those 
stamps are not to be removed by taste of 
liquor.” 

“Ah! sure,” replied the smooth-tongued 
receiver of the sweets, “When the dew kisses 
the tulips in the mornin’, nothin’ but the 
blessed sun can remove it, but don’t ye think 
the dockiment requires a couple o’ more ” 

“Be satisfied,” answered Hannora pout- 
ingly. “Ye’ll get no more to-day, an’ take 
care Shamus ye don’t break yer promise.” 

* ‘Oh ! if I do I’ll give the stamps back, 
whisper, Alice, Hannora.” The girls ap- 
proached him. “I have five or six more good 
resolutions, whenever yer ready wid the 
stamps.” Alice laughed, and joined Tyler 
at the mill door. 

“Maybe, the Grady girls would accommo- 
date ye,” said Hannora, and her blue eyes 
snapped. 

“Ah ! How can ye talk like that, when ye 
know that your’e the light o’ my heart. The 
Grady girls indeed, I haven’t set eyes upon 
one o’ them for a month. 

“Oh ! Shamus Roe, Shamus Roe, when did 


42 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


ye tell the truth last ? ” 

‘ ‘Whin I called you the light o’ my heart, ” 
and he slipped his arm around her waist. 

“Arrah, will ye look at him, an’ forninst 
my father,” said Hannora, as she pushed him 
away. 4 ‘Didn’t I see ye yesterday in Grady’s 
barn jiggin’ away wid the two Grady girls 
an’ Con Fagin ? ” 

“Bad luck to that barn dure, I thought it 
was shut,” said Sliamus aside. Then turning 
to Nora with an innocent air: “Yesterday, did 
you say. Let me see. Was it yesterday. 
Yesterday was Sunday, wasn’t it? ” 

“I’m af eared ’tis many a month since you 
gave a thought to the blessed day, dancin’ an’ 
hurleyin’ in place of bein’ in the holy chapel, 
what’ll become o’ ye ?” 

“Go to the bad, I suppose,” replied Shamus 
penitently. “But sure I only went to the 
barn yesterday, Nora dear, to try the flure 
for the dance. Don’t ye know to-morrow 
night is Snap-apple, an’ the dance ’ill be at 
Grady’s. I’m goin’ to take ye. ” 

“Are ye; ye’d better ax me first if I’ll go ? ” 
“Oh ! Indeed you will.” 

“Oh! Indeed I won’t, at least not wid 
you.” And with a proud toss of her head, 


SHAMUS ROE. 


43 


Nora approached Nancy. 

“’Tis coaxin’ she wants,” said Sliamus, as 
he followed her. While Nora and Sliamus 
were discussing the Sunday question, the 
schoolmaster was eulogizing a certain young 
man in the mill, and from the tell-tale color 
in Alice Moyne’s beautiful face, it may be 
inferred that his praise of Neil Brandon 
was not an unsavory dish for her to digest. 

4 4 Ah ! don’t blush Alice, he’s an honest 
boy, and he’ll make ye a good husband, ” said 
Tyler, as he saw the rose tint deepen on her 
cheeks. 

“But I’ve no idea of marrying any good 
honest boy, at least not at present,” said 
Alice. 44 I am in trouble, schoolmaster, and 
I want your advice.” 

44 My advice, about what?” inquired Tyler. 

“About Maurice Ronyane.” 

“Oh ! indeed. What has he been doing? ” 

“You know,” answered Alice, 4 ‘that 
Ronyane &> Roe’s lease of the mill expires 
with the present month.” 

“Well?” 

“Maurice Ronyane desires to dissolve the 
partnership, and wants me to lease the mill 
to him alone.” 


44 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Oh ! Is that all he wants ! ” 

“No, he wants me with the lease.” 

“What,” said Tyler, in horror. “Marry his 
own cousin! Alice, dear, what do you in- 
tend to do ? ” 

“Neither one,” replied Alice with spirit, 
I will not marry him, nor shall he have the 
lease of the mill alone.” 

“Good,” said Tyler, “But what do you in- 
tend to do with this ? ” pointing to the Sack 
O’ Flour. 

“Burn it to the ground, rather than Tobe 
O’Keefe should have it.” 

“Ye don’t need my advice,” said the school- 
master, as he took her hands and pressed 
them warmly. “Yer doing just as I’d have ye 
do.” 

“Here’s your one pound note Mr. McCabe,” 
said Neil, as he came from the mill, and 
handed Tyler a note. 1 ‘It’s new and crisp. 
Good morning, Alice.” 

“Good morning, Neil,” replied Alice, as 
she offered him her hand, which he eagerly 
grasped, and held, until he saw the man of 
learning smile; then as if guilty of some mis- 
demeanor, dropt it; and turning to Tyler 
asked “if he was through with his business 


SHAMUS ROE. 


45 


in the mill.” 

“Every morsel of it,” replied Tyler. “I 
liave my money for the whate an’ ” 

“I think Mr. Roe would like to see you 
there,” said Neil with a guilty look on his 
handsome face. 

‘ T think you'd like to see me there, or any 
where, out o’ this,” laughed the schoolmaster, 
as he went towards the mill door, where he 
was intercepted by the vagabond. 

“Mr. McCabe, I ” and there Shamus 

became tongue tied. 

“Well, Shamus, what is it,” asked Tyler. 

“’Tis a fine mornin’ sur, glory be to Grod.” 

“Oh! it is, indeed,” said Tyler, “but was 
it to tell that, that ye stopped me? ” 

“No, sur ; divil a thing did I want to tell 
ye at-all-at-all. I only wanted to ax ye, if 
ye’d lave me Yis sur, if ye’d lave me ?” 

4 ‘If I’d lave ye what, Shamus ?” 

‘ ‘Yis, sur ; if ye’d lave me, I’d be 

obliged to ye, for ye ” 

‘ ‘An’ if you'd lave me go into the mill, I’d be 
obliged to ye ; don’t ye see I’m not wanted here? 

‘ ‘Oh ! bad cess to him, ” cried Hannora in 
despair. “He’ll spoil everything, an’ my 
father’ll never let me go to the dance.” Sha- 


46 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


mus still held his ground in front of the 
schoolmaster, muttering some unintelligible 
words, until Tyler losing his patience, ex- 
claimed : ‘ ‘What in the name of all the saints 
do ye want, ye stutterin’ highbinder ?” 

‘ ‘The dance is goin’ to be at Widdy Grady’s, 
to-morrow night sur,” said Shamus, finding 
his voice. 

“Well.” 

“If ye plaze sur, will ye lave me take 
Nancy?” 

Hannora groaned, and shook her fist at the 
pleader, while Alice and Neil burst into a 
ripple of laughter. 

“Ye may an’ welcome,” said Tyler, as he 
passed Shamus. Then as he was about to 
enter the mill, he turned with this injunc- 
tion : ‘ ‘Mind that ye bring her home early, 

an’ feed her well.” 

“Oh! I will, sur; never fear, long life to ye,” 
said Shamus, as he looked after the school- 
master. Then going to Hannora, who was 
leaning against the cart, as if for support, 
triumphantly exclaimed: “There, I tould 
ye ’twould be an aisy job. I’ll bring ye home 
early an’ feed ye well. ” 

“Feed me well,” almost screamed Hannora, 


SHAMUS ROE. 


47 


as slie faced him with clinched fists, and 
anger in her blue eyes, 4 ‘Feed me well, de 
ye take me for a horse. ” 

“Sure I’m only goin’ to do yer father’s 
biddin’.” 

4 ‘Do it then, I would’nt go across the lane 
wid ye; take her to the dance, an’ mind ye 
feed her well. She’s the only company yer 
fit for, although she has more sinse. Poor 
baste, that for ye, ye omadhaun, ” and she 
snapped her fingers in his face, as she enter- 
ed the mill. 

4 ‘Poor baste, ” said the amazed Shamus, as 
he looked after her. 

4 4 Arrah ! who does she mane ? ” 

“Why, she means Nancy,” laughed Alice. 

4 ‘Nancy ? ” 

“Yes; you have the schoolmaster’s permis- 
sion to take her to the dance to-morrow 
night, provided you bring her home early and 
feed her well . ” 

4 ‘Who, the horse ? ” 

“Certainly, it was the horse you asked 
for.” 

“Well, bad luck to Nancy, an’ her oats. 
What’ll I do now, I dunno, ” and Shamus was 
in a 'quandry. 


48 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


4 ‘Go and confess your mistake, ” said Alice. 

“To who, the horse?” 

“No ! to Hannora.” 

‘ ‘Ah ! sure, if I wint near her now ” 

“Your heart would jump out of your 
mouth,” said Neil, “as soon as she opened 
hers. ” 

“No fear o’ yours jumpin’ out o’ your 
mouth.” 

“Not a bit,” replied Neil laughing. 

“No, devil a bit, bekase ye have’nt it wid 
ye ; ’tis a prisioner in a well built jail, near 
by,” and Shamus pointed to Alice Moyne, 
as he entered the mill to make his peace 
with Hannora. 

“Poor Shamus, why do you teaze him, 
Neil.” 

* “Why do you tease me? ” 

‘ ‘Tease you, in what way ? ” 

‘ ‘Why, were you again last evening with 
Maurice Ronyane.” 

“Why, simply because he was with me,” 
replied Alice. 

‘ ‘That is not an answer to my question. I 
tell you Alice, this man’s marked attentions 
to you displeases me. ” 

“Neil Brandon, you are absurdly silly.” 


SHAMUS ROE. 


49 


“Perhaps I am, or insanely jealous, if you 
will;” and Neil turned away from her. 

“Jealous?” and Alice Moyne’s musical 
laugh was echoed far up the lane. “Jealous 
of my own cousin, coming to talk to me on a 
matter of business.” 

4 4 What business can Maurice Ronyane have 
with you ? ” 

4 4 I deny your right to question me, ” replied 
Alice with dignity. 

4 ‘Alice Moyne, you told me nearly on the 
same spot where I saw you with Maurice 
Ronyane last night, that you loved me. ” 

4 4 And I told you the truth; I do love you 
Neil Brandon ; yet I deny your right to ques- 
tion my actions.” 

“Deny the right of the man who truly 
loves you ? ” 

4 ‘The man who truly loves has confidence. 
I am mistress of this small estate, the mill, 
and that miserable shebeen; these, with the 
house in Cork, in which Maurice Ronyane, 
and his mother reside, belong to me. The 
leases of the several occupants expire with 
the present month. Now, is it not natural, 
that I should have business with my cousin, 
Maurice? Jealous,” continued Alice chid- 


50 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


ingly, “why yon might as well be jealous of 
Tobe O’Keefe. He is liable to be seen with 
me at any moment, asking for a renewal of 
his lease. ” Smilin’ Tobe, or Peepin’ Tobe, as 
we should call him on this occasion, with 
the door of the Sack O’ Flour slightly ajar, 
had not missed a word of the conversation 
between the lovers, which conversation he 
would repeat verbatum to his best costumer, 
v Maurice Ronyane, but like all eavesdroppers, 
Tobe was destined not to hear any good of 
himself. 

“Will you renew his lease?” asked Neil. 
Tobe pushed his large ear through the apper- 
ture, to catch the answer. 

“No,” replied Alice. “I would rather give 
it to some poor man rent free for a pig sty 
than let him have it for fifty pounds a year.” 

‘ ‘Of the two, I think the pig sty would be 
preferable,” said Neil. “But come, Alice, as 
the wheat is coming in slowly, I will steal a 
few moments for a short stroll away from the 
tainted atmosphere of Smilin’ Tobe’s den. I 
am glad you have concluded to drive this 
scoundrel from our midst,” and with his arm 
around her waist, they walked leisurely up 
the lane, while Tobe threw open the door 


SHAMUS ROE. 


51 


and standing on the threshold, shook his fist 
at them. “Before I’m druv away from here 
ISTale Brandon, I’ll put something in your 
pipe to smoke,” and with an oath he disap- 
peared within to console himself with a noggin 
or two of his own poison. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE PARTNER. 

As Alice and Neil departed for their short 
stroll, there might have been heard on the 
lower road, the galloping of a fast approach- 
ing horse. Nearer and nearer came the pat- 
ter of the hoofs, until the sounds ceased, as 
the rider drew rein at the door of the old 
mill. Without moving in his saddle he called 
loudly: “Jim, or Paddy, or anybody.” A 
man came from the mill in response to the 
call, with a pull at his forelock and a low 
bow, which greeting was not returned or 
even recognized. Dismounting he threw the 
reins to the man. 4 ‘Remove the saddle, give 
him a feed of oats and a rub down.” 

‘ ‘Yis, yer honor, ” said the man, as he led the 
panting animal to the shed at the rear of the 


THE PARTNER. 


53 


mill. As tlie equestrian stands removing his 
gloves, you see a man short of stature, but 
broad of chest and shoulders, long black hair, 
with close cropped beard of the same color. 
Small, dark, restless eyes — eyes that never 
look in yours ; never a friend to love, but 
always a foe to fear, is Maurice Ronyane, 
the partner of honest Jerry Roe. 

“Damn the dust,” and he beats a tatoo on 
the long riding boots with his whip. ‘ ‘I must 
have O’Keefe dust me off a bit before I ap- 
pear in her ladyship’s presence for my an- 
swer. Ah ! beautiful Alice, when you are 
mine, I’ll make a clearing out of the mill, be 
assured of that,” saying which he entered 
the whisky perfumed sanctum of Tobe 
O’Keefe, just as Alice and Neil returned from 
their short stroll, evidently in perfect har- 
mony with each other, as Alice was saying : 
“Now that I’ve satisfied you that I am a 
woman of business, are you content ? ” 

4 ‘Perfectly, ” answered Neil. ‘ ‘Forgive me 
Alice, for doubting you, but I couldn’t sleep 
last night, I thought he’d been making love 
to you.” 

‘ ‘Love ! ” and Alice laughed. 

Tobe O’Keefe at that moment almost 


54 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


dragged Maurice Ronyane through the door 
of the Sack O’ Flour, and pointing to the 
lovers, said : “There didn’t I tell ye.” 

Ronyane livid with rage, was about to 
rush upon them, but Tobe held him back. 

“Love,” continued Alice. “Why he don’t 
know how to make love. ‘ ‘He’s too matter of 
fact. Y et, with all the encouragement you’ve 
had, he’s made more progression in one moon- 
light stroll than you have in twenty. ” 

‘ ‘More progression ; how ? ” 

“He asked me to become his wife.” 

‘ ‘Maurice Ronyane ! ” 

‘ ‘Maurice Ronyane. ” 

‘ ‘And you, Alice. What was your answer ?” 

‘ ‘I couldn’t answer, I was so dumbfounded. ” 

‘ ‘But Alice ! Alice ! Will you become his 
wife ? ” eagerly asked Neil. 

Ronyane threw Tobe aside and approached 
them. There was an angry light in his small 
eyes as he said : “I being the party most 
interested, by right of my having asked Miss 
Moyne that question first, perhaps you will 
kindly allow her to answer me. ” 

Alice turned upon the intruder, and with 
a look of disdain, exclaimed : ‘ ‘Eavesdrop- 

ping, Mr. Ronyane, is not the role of a 


THE PARTNER. 


55 


gentleman. ” 

‘ ‘It was accidental, I assure you, Alice. I 
was on my way to your cottage for the an- 
swer to a proposal I made you last evening, 
when ” 

“And what answer could ou expect, hut 

” Maurice feeling that he was about to 

receive his quietus, interrupted her. 

“Stop, I will not receive it in the presence 
of a third party.” Then turning to Neil: 
“Why are you here sir, return to your work.” 

“I will not stir,” replied Neil, “until you 
have had your answer.” 

‘ ‘Which I will give him. Although highly 
honored, I most respectfully decline,” and 
Alice bowed low to Jerry Roe’s partner, while 
that worthy bit his nether lip until the blood 
came, and with a suppressed oath, faced 
Neil Brandon. 

‘ ‘As I have some business with Miss Moyne, 
perhaps you will cease your loitering and go 
back to your work. ” 

“I am not loitering. I came on business 
to Tyler McCabe, the schoolmaster. ” 

‘ ‘And when you had finished that business 
instead of returning to your work, you loit- 
ered to make love to Alice Moyne, the 


56 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


heiress.” 

“Maurice Ronyane,” said Alice indignant- 
ly, 4 ‘how dare you. ” 

“I have the right to censure him. I am 
his master.” 

“I have no master,” and the hot blood 
mounted to Neil’s brow. 

4 ‘I pay you for work with Bank of Eng- 
land notes, therefore I am your master.” 

4 4 I deny it, as I repay you with hand and 
brain’” 

The men were dangerously close together, 
as Alice came between them. 

“Neil Brandon is right,” she said. “The 
honest working man has no master, save 
God.” Then in a conciliatory tone: “Mr. 
Brandon, your employer , Mr. Ronyane, de- 
sires that you return to your duties in the 
mill.” 

4 4 I will return, Miss Moyne, and with a 
light heart.” And, looking with a smile of 
triumx3h at Ronyane, he entered the mill. 

“Your heart will be heavy enough before 
I get through with you,” said Maurice, as he 
followed Neil to the mill door, his face almost 
distorted with hatred. Returning to Alice, 
he hissed in her ear: “Have you weighed 


THE PARTNER. 


57 


well your refusal of my offer ? ” 

“Wliy, you know Maurice, I could never 
marry you. Are you not my first cousin ? ” 

“Psliaw! What of that; cousins marry 
every day. ” 

“Aye ! But such marriages are registered 
above, in letters of blood.” 

“You love this pauper-working man?” 

“I love, with all my heart, this honest 
miller.” 

“Miller ! A man without a name.” 

“Why, Maurice, have you forgotten. Neil 
Brandon is his name. Don’t you think it a 
pretty one ?” 

‘ 4 Ah ! Alice, ” and there was a volume of 
sympathy in his voice. “Had your dear 
mother, on her death bed, ever dreamed 
that you would love a common laborer, she 
would have thought twice, ere she removed 
you from the protection of my mother and 
myself and given you to the care of ignorant 
Jerry Roe.” 

“Maurice Ronyane, had my dear mother 
on her death bed, ever dreamed that my own 
cousin would insult me, by offering me his 
hand in marriage, she would ere she thought 
once, given me to the care of honest Jerry 


58 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


Roe a thousand times over. ” 

“About the lease, shall I have it?” asked 
Ronyane angrily. 

“Why do you wish to dissolve with Mr. 
Roe. You get along well together and the 
business is prosperous.” 

1 ‘I have my reasons, ” Maurice laughed dis- 
cordantly. ‘ ‘He has’nt the money to buy, I 
have. I must get the lease, or the mill is 
closed.” 

‘ ‘Indeed ! ” said Alice. ‘ ‘Remember, Maur- 
ice, Jerry Roe is the best miller, and this 
one of the best paying mills in Glanmire. ” 

“The very reason I would have it alone. I 
tell you Alice, he must buy or sell. When 
the lease is renewed there will be but one 
name over that door, and that name will be 


“Jerry Roe,” said Alice with decision. 

“Are you mad,” said Roe’s partner, tremb- 
ling with rage, “you’ve thwarted me once to- 
day, beware how you do it again.” Shamus 
who at that moment, came from the mill, 
listened with surprise. 

Ignoring the madman’s threat, Alice look- 
ed him in the face, and said: “Name your 
price to Mr. Roe and it shall be paid.” She 


THE PARTNER. 


59 


was about to pass him, when lie stopped 
her. 

“Alice, would you league yourself with 
these ignorant paupers against your own 
blood relations ? ” 

“Blood relations!” and Alice laughed. 
“I thought you had forgotten that such 
beings existed; let me pass; I have invited a 
few friends to dinner, and ” 

‘ ‘One moment ! ” 

“No, sur, she can’t wait ; the dinner might 
spile,” said Shamus, as he came between 
them, and faced Ronyane, an action which 
made the senior partner quail, as he looked 
at the burly figure of the vagabond. “The 
way is clear for ye Miss Moyne,” continued 
Shamus, ‘ ‘but don’t forget to put my name 
in the pot.” 

“Be sure, I will not, Shamus,” said Alice, 
as she went towards the cottage. 

‘ ‘Ah ! Mr. Ronyane, the dinners she cooks. 
Her an’ Molly Huffy, why sur, they’d make 
yer mouth wather.” 

“Why are you not at work.” 

“Well sur, ye see, I lost half a day. I was 
buisy wid some dockiments, havin’ sales, an’ 
stamps put upon thim.” 


60 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Where did you get the stamps? Stole 
them from the mill, I dare say.” 

“No sur, I got them out here; they wor 
give to me. I doiLt think Mr. Ronyane, you 
had one o’ them for a long time ; they’re call- 
ed fourlip stamps. You could’nt buy one o’ 
them for love or money. ” 

“Tell your uncle I’m in the Sack O’ Flour, ” 
and Ronyane nearly took the hinges off of 
Tobe’s front door as he entered. 

4 ‘That ye may stay in the Sack O’ Flour 
till ye become dough,” said Shamus, as he 
took a seat at the customers’ table, and 
called lustily : “Tobe, Tobe O’Keefe ? ” 

The door opened just wide enough for 
Smilin’ Tobe to push his head through. 
“What are ye shoutin’ for?” he asked. 

4 ‘Ain’t it aisy for ye to come in ? ” 

“Ain’t it just as aisy for you to come out? 
A blast o’ fresh air ’ll do ye no harm.” 

“Well what’ll ye have?” said Tobe, as he 
came out and slapped Shamus on the back. 

4 ‘The same ould thing ? 

“Yis,” replied Shamus, “The same ould 
thing, an the slate.” 

“Are ye goin’ to pay? 

“Don’t I always pay,” answered the vaga- 


THE PARTNER. 


61 


bond with an offended air. 

“Oh, indeed ye do ! an’ don’t I always carry 
ye as far as ye want to go ? ” 

“Ye do, an’ a damn sight farther some 
times. ” 

“Ah ! Shamns, ye’ll always be a boy, sure 
there’s no hurry for the money.” 

“There is,” said Shamus determinedly. “I 
want to get out o’ the clutches o’ the devil, 
an’ be a man.” 

“Nale Brandon’s been prachin’ to him,” 
said Tobe, as he entered the shebeen. 

4 Tve put my foot in it again wid Hannora, ” 
said Shamus, as he rubbed his head. “I 
axed her father to lave her come wid me in 
place o’ Nancy. She heard me, an’ my head 
is lighter from loss o’ hair.” 

With a large slate under his arm, and a 
glass of liquor in each hand, Tobe came from 
his den. Laying the slate on the table, he 
held the liquor above his head. “Look 
Shamus, look at the number o’ bades upon 
the liquor.” 

“Yis,” said Shamus, “an look at the num- 
ber o’ figures on that slate.” Tobe put the 
two glasses on the table and took up the 
slate. ‘ ‘But remember, Shamus, this carries 


62 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


tin o’ my best customers. There’s Nolan an’ 
Fagin an’ O’Malley an’ O’Sullivan, an’ yis, 
an’ Roe, eight-an-four-pence-half -penny. ” 

“For one week?” asked the surprised 
Shamus. 

“Yis, but you needn’t pay before — this is 
Monday, well before ” 

“Monday !” said Shamus, as he took a 
handful of silver from his pocket. 4 4 I like 
to pay on Monday. There’s yer money.” 

“Thank ye, Shamus,” said Tobe as he count- 
ed the silver. 4 ‘Lave me wipe it out, ” and for 
the last time Smilin’ Tobe O’Keefe erased the 
name of Shamus Roe from his slate. Placing 
it on the table, he took up the two glasses 
of liquor, handed one to Shamus, and as he 
raised the other to his lips said : 4 ‘Here’s to 

the wipin’ out of all accounts,” and at a 
gulp he emptied the glass. 

“Amen!” said Shamus, as he threw the 
contents of his glass on the slate, and in a 
moment, with the aid of his coat sleeve, there 
was not a name or a figure to be seen on its 
smooth surface. 

“Ah ! man alive,” roared Tobe, snatching 
up the slate. “See what you have done. 
Ruined the scores of nine min wid the 






THE PARTNER. 


68 


liquor.” 

“An 7 see what you've done — ruined the 
homes of twice nine min wid the same stuff. ” 

The -noonday bell rang the hour ; the old 
wheel stopped revolving, and the honest mil- 
lers came forth, eager to reach their respective 
homes, partake of the midday meal, and en- 
joy the hour of rest. “I’m goin 7 to my din- 
ner,” said Shamus. 

‘ ‘That it may choke ye, ” growled Tobe, as 
he entered the Sack O’ Flour, with his worth- 
less slate. After the millers came Jerry 
Roe, Tyler, and Hannora. Shamus tried to 
attract her attention, but she passed him by 
with the air of a duchess, and followed the 
miller and her father into Alice Moyne’s 
cottage. 

“She won’t look at me,” said Shamus, as 
Neil came from the mill, his coat on his arm. 
“Are ye cornin’ in the cottage Nale, or are ye 
goin’ home to dinner.” 

“Neither one,” answered Neil, as he threw 
his coat on the cart. “Shamus my heart is so 
light I can feel it in my throat.” 

“Can ye. Well mine’s so heavy I can feel 
it in my shoes.” 

“Shamus, my boy, Alice Moyne’s words 


64 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


has made a man of me. Now I can meet my 
destiny with closed eyes,” and Neil started 
for the river’s side to give more vent to his 
pleasant thoughts. 

“Wid yer eyes closed; look out ye don’t 
fall in a ditch,” shouted Shamus, as Neil dis- 
appeared at a turn in the road. “Alice 
Moyne’s words has made a new man of him, 
Hannora McCabe’s words has made an ould 
jackass o’ me, but jackasses must ate as well 
as other Christians. Bad luck to you, Nancy,” 
and the crest-fallen “devil among the girls,” 
entered the cottage where his name was in 
the pot. 

Tobe, who as usual, had his large ear to 
the keyhole, came from his lair as Shamus 
disappeared. “Brandon’s wild in love, but 
I’ve a plan that’ll spile him in her eyes. If 
my time is short in the Sack O’ Flour, his 
time’ll be shorter in the mill,” and Tobe 
actually began to dance with joy when the 
voice of Maurice Ronyane stopped him. 

“Is he in the mill?” asked Ronyane. 

“No,” answered Tobe. “Gone down the 
road. The fever o’ love has so warmed his 
blood that he has no fear o’ ketchin’ could. 
See, he left his coat on the cart. ” 


THE PARTNER. 


65 


u 0h, damn his coat,” said Ronyane impa- 
tiently. 

“An’ him, an’ him,” shouted Tobe. “Oh ! 
be the varch o’ my oath ! the very thing, 
I can put the money in his coat.” 

“So you can,” said Ronyane, “and that 
will be proof positive. I’ll follow the hand- 
some confidential man and discharge him, 
but I’ll give him no reason for so doing. ” 

“Good, that’ll be another spoke in his 
wheel. Discharged min are disgraced min, 
an’ ginerally need money to keep them till 
they get another job,” And Tobe rubbed 
his fat hands together until the blood 
tingled in them. 

“True. I’ll keep him away long enough 
for you to do the work, but on your life, 
don’t fail,” and the conspirator started in 
search of his prey. 

“Fail, after what he’s dun to me ; no fear. 
Fail, I’d sind him to the divil if I could, an’ 
laugh wid joy while the ‘ould boy’ prodded 
him wid his fork;” then looking cautiously 
around. “No one about, they’re all at dinner. 
I’ve no time to lose,” and the arch conspirator 
entered the mill. 


CHAPTER V. 


LITTLE DANNY. 

At the same moment a small figure ap- 
peared, and stood in the large window of 
the mill loft, and directly over the door 
through which Tobe disappeared. It was a 
picture in truth, but such a picture. The 
figure was that of a boy, perhaps 15 years 
old, but looking much older, clad in a faded 
blue shirt, a coat with the sleeves turned up, 
and ample enough to hold another such as 
he, and then button it; a pair of old cour- 
droy knee breeches reaching his ankles, his 
feet were bare, and the light curling hair on 
his well shaped head was its only covering. 
The face refined, but pale and pinched as if 
from hunger and exposure, while the large 
blue eyes of Danny O’Keefe had a look of 


LITTLE DANNY. 


67 


terror in them, as he stood in the window, 
in bold relief, and gazed across the road at 
the Sack O’ Flour. “The mill is stopped,” 
said the small voice. 4 ‘I dunno if they’re all 
gone. It looks quiet bey ant at the Sack O’ 
Flour. I hope uncle Tobe is drunk, an’ 
asleep, for if he ketches me stalein out o’ 
this ’tis well he’ll tan me.” 

Just then Tobe emerged from the mill with 
a large roll of bank notes in his hand. Danny 
with a bound was back in the loft, where 
through a knot hole near the window, he 
watched his amiable uncle. 

4 4 All the money was in the drawer, ” said 
Tobe. 4 4 I had to break it open, but that’s no 
odds. Ah ! here’s the proof, ” as he took a note 
from the roll. “The torn one pound note, 
number three thousand, three hundred and 
thirty-three. There’s no mistakin’ that,” and 
approaching the cart, he put the money into 
the pocket of Neil Brandon’s coat. “Now 
Mr. Nale Brandon I think we have ye. Ye’ll 
be likely to give the alarm yerself whin the 
stolen money is found in yer own pocket. 
Who’ll be the most likely to be druv in dis- 
grace outside o’ Glanmire, you or me,” and 
with a fiendish chuckle, the thief entered the 


68 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


Sack O’ Flour, satisfied beyond the shadow 
of a doubt, that he had his foe upon the hip. 
But Smilin’ Tobe reckoned without his host, 
for while he was regailing himself with the 
contents of a black bottle, and waiting for 
the result of his villainy, little Danny was 
descending from the loft by means of the 
mill door, which stood wide open. As he 
reached the ground, he ran behind the cart, 
where there was little chance of Tobe seeing 
him, should he look through the window of 
the shebeen. ‘ ‘My, my, ” said the frighten- 
ed lad. “What a power o’ money uncle Tobe 
had. He got it out o’ the mill, an’ said he had 
to break the drawer open. For what did he 
put it in Hale Brandon’s pocket; I dunno, an’ 
he talked about drivin’ him in disgrace out o’ 
Glanmire. Maybe he put it in there so that 
whin ’twas found in the coat, everyone i’d 
think Hale was the robber. Ho, no, Hale 
Brandon was always good to me, gave me the 
bite, an’ the place to sleep, when he, my own 
uncle, drove me out in the night an’ the 
cold.” Danny came from behind the cart, 
and took the money from the coat. My, oh 
my ! what a lot. I’ll put it back in the mill.” 
As he started for the mill door the voice of 


LITTLE DANNY. 


69 


Tobe was heard, singing, (or trying to sing) 
4 ‘Nell Flaherty’s Drake. ” As the harsh notes 
struck his ear, Danny again ran behind the 
cart. ‘ ‘God help me, I don’t know what to 
do wid it. If he ketches me wid it, he’ll kill 
me, an’ if it’s found in Nale’s pocket, he’ll be 
took up. I could keep it myself, an’ go to 
America, away from him, who bates me like 
a dog. I will, ” and he put the money in his 
breeches pocket. “Then Nale’ll be safe, an’ 
I’ll be gone.” As he turned to go, he almost 
ran into the arms of Shamus, who had just 
left the cottage, and heard his last words. 

“Where are ye goin’ that ye’ll be gon 
Danny ? ” 

“Anywhere out o’ this, sir,” said the boy 
trembling with fear. “Up to the haunted 
chapel, in the Lover’s Lane, where in the 
evenin’ I hears the beautiful music. Lave 
me go, sir, for if Uncle Tobe ketches me, 
he’ll bate me ! ” 

“If he does, I’ll throttle him,” replied 
Shamus. 

“Thin, sur, he’d only bate me the more. 
Lave me go, sur, lave me go ! ” 

“Well my poor boy away wid ye.” And 
Danny ran up the road like a frightened 


70 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


deer. “Oh, look at him run,” said Shamus 
as he looked after him. ‘ ‘But ’tis no wonder 
that he’d run, the poor ill-used crature, for 
’tis many’s the welt he has on his hack from 
his blackguard uncle, bad luck to him. 

“Oh, yer back, are ye ? ” 

“Yes, like a bad penny,” said Neil, who 
had just returned, taking his coat from the 
cart, and put it on. 

“Did ye meet destiny on the road?” 
laughed Shamus. 

“I did.” 

“Was yer eyes shut ? ” 

“They were, but he opened them,” bitterly 
replied Neil. 

“Who!” 

‘ ‘Maurice Ronyane. ” 

“How did he open them ? ” asked Shamus. 

“By discharging me.” 

‘ ‘Discharging you — for what ? ” 

“Because I love, and am beloved,” replied 
Neil proudly, 

“Well, that’s a combination he’ll never 
have anyway ! ” 

“I am commanded to deliver the keys of 
the mill to his lordship before the bell 
strikes one.” 


LITTLE DANNY. 


71 


“I wish,” said Shamus, “ye’d deliver me 
wid the keys.” 

“Deliver you ! ” 

“Yes, from his evil presence. I’m tired of 
workin’ for the devil.” 

“He’ll not singe you, Shamus. You’re 
not in his way,” said Neil, as he entered the 
mill. 

The men, returning from their noonday 
repast, began to arrive. They lounged about 
in the front of the mill smoking and talking, 
while they waited the stroke of one to re- 
sume their work. And from the cottage of 
Alice Moyne came a merry party, laughing 
and chatting, little dreaming there was 
villainy in their midst. 

“We’ll all be there to-morrow night, 
J erry, ” said the schoolmaster. ‘ ‘An’ we’ll show 
them we’re not too ould to shake a leg or 
two with the youngest o’ them,” 

Maurice Ronyane had returned and was 
talking with Tobe at the Inn door as the 
bell struck one. At that moment Neil Bran- 
don came rushing from the mill, with the 
cry: “The mill has been robbed ! ” 

“Bobbed!” came in chorus from all as- 
sembled. 


72 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Yes, of over a hundred pounds,” ex- 
citedly replied Neil. 

“A hundert pounds,” echoed Tobe as he 
came forward. 

“Oh, my ! Oh, my ! Well, as we all have 
our honesty at stake, bein’ in an’ about the 
mill, I think ’tis only fair that we all be 
sarched ? ” 

“Yes,” said Ronyane, and let us begin 
with a workman discharged for cause. Neil 
Brandon. ” 

“Neil Brandon ! ” And the crimson mount- 
ed to the very roots of Alice Moyne’s hair, 
as she said : “For shame, Maurice Ronyane, 
for shame.” 

“Lave me sarch him!” And as Tobe 
advanced, his fat fingers were itching to get 
into Neil’s coat pocket. 

“Stand back,” said Neil, and there was a 
wicked look in his eyes. 

‘Stand back, Tobe O’Keefe ! I will not 
submit to this indignity.” 

Calmly and proudly Alice Moyne ap- 
proached Neil, and placing her arm around 
his neck, said: “Neil, for mine, for your 
honor’s sake, you will submit. Schoolmaster, 
you are the oldest man here, search Neil 


LITTLE DANNY. 


73 


Brandon ! ” 

“Well, it goes agin me to do it, but at 
your request, an’ with his permission I will. 
Come Nale boy, don’t be afeared.” 

“I am an honest man, schoolmaster, and 
have no fear,” said Neil proudly, as he held 
up his arms to be searched. 

After a thorough search, the schoolmaster 
said with a laugh : 4 ‘Two shillins, a cigar, an’ 
a penknife;” and he held them above his 
head. 

With a cry of joy, Alice fell on Neil’s 
breast. Bonyane turned to Tobe and hissed 
in his ear : 4 ‘Did you do as yon promised ? ” 

“As I’m a man, I did,” answered crest- 
fallen Tobe. 

Maddened with rage and disappointment, 
Ronyane shouted : “Perhaps Jerry Roe, who 
is so anxious to buy me out, can account for 
this little discrepancy. Search him.” 

There was a cry of “shame ! shame ! ” from 
all. 

“Search him, schoolmaster ! ” cried the baf- 
fled conspirator. 

“Mr. Ronyane,” replied Tyler, “I don’t 
often swear, but I’m damned if I will ! What, 
search my old friend. No.” 


74 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Then I will,” and Ronyane advanced to 
put his threat into execution. 

“Don’t dar to touch him,” said Shamus, as 
he jumped in front of his uncle. 

Ronyane hesitated as he said : ‘ ‘My money 
has been stolen.” 

‘ ‘Then go hunt for it somewhere else, for 
the thief’s name is not Roe,” said Shamus 
proudly. 

‘ ‘He’s af eared, he’s af eared ! ” shouted Tobe 
beside himself with rage at being foiled in 
his dastardly attempt to convict Neil. “The 
money was took. Search him, Mr. Ronyane, 
search him, an’ I’ll help ye.” 

“Out ye vulture,” exclaimed Shamus. “If 
you or yer master do but touch my father’s 
brother with one o’ yer devil’s claws, I’ll 
knock ye both down, an walk upon ye ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


SNAP- APPLE NIGHT. 

About half a mile nortli of the scene of 
the last chapter, and in close proximity to 
the Lover’s Lane, stands a small, neat cottage, 
with a large barn attached. The cottage, 
the barn, and the ground on which they 
stand is the property of Robert Morrow. As 
a poor farmer’s boy, Morrow had by thrift 
and industry, saved enough to purchase the 
picturesque three acres near the Lover’s 
Lane, to build the neat little cottage, in 
which he installed his young wife as mis- 
tress, and the barn, to receive the products 
of the little farm, and shelter his single 
horse, his cow, and a few pigs. The 
Morrow’s prospered. Three children, in as 
many years’ were born to them in their 


76 THE MILLER OP GLANMIRE. 

liumble, happy home, where they might be 
living to day had not an elder brother of 
Morrow’s, a bachelor, emigrated to America 
years before, and dying, left to Robert all 
his earthly possessions, a large farm and a 
snug sum of money, with the proviso, that 
he (Robert) would make that glorious land 
his future home. 

Before emigrating to make his home under 
the Stars and Stripes, and where many 
a true Irish heart beats to-day, Morrow, 
for a nominal sum, rented his little estate 
to a friend named Micheal Grady, a 
stonemason by trade, with a wife and two 
daughters. Grady thought he could make 
a success of cultivating *the sod, but he 
soon discovered that there was quite a 
difference between building a stone wall 
and handling a plow. So, in a short time 
the three acres, so well kept by Robert 
Morrow, became a wilderness of weeds. As 
time went on, .Grady altogether neglected 
the little farm, sold his only horse, bought 
a small boat with the money and devoted 
his time to fishing, by which means he made 
a sorry living for his family. But his poor 
wife seldom complained, for she loved the 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


77 


shiftless fellow. 

One dark night Grady, with a boon com- 
panion, was fishing mid-stream in the Lee, 
and perhaps having taken a taste too much, 
neglected to light the signal lamp. A 
steamer plying between Cork and Queens- 
town, ran into the boat containing the two 
men and made splinters of it. Next day 
both bodies were found. Grady’s on a 
shutter was taken home to the heart-broken 
widow and children, and in the barn ( where 
many a snap-apple-night since the boys and 
girls of the neighborhood danced to the 
music of Barney Delaney’s pipes), all 
that was mortal of Micheal Grady was laid, 
and over him was held one of the largest 
wakes that was ever heard of in Glanmire. 
For with all his faults “Mike” had many 
friends. 

Soon after the funeral, Nancy Grady, the 
eldest daughter, who had a little education, 
wrote to Robert Morrow informing him of 
their sad bereavement and asking what 
disposition should be made of his property 
in Ireland, as now that their protector was 
gone, they would have little means to pay 
rent. 


78 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


Before the grass was green on poor 
“ Mike’s ” grave came an answer from the 
big-hearted man in America. After deeply 
sympathizing with them, he ended by say- 
ing : 4 ‘As long as the onld mother lives, lave 
her stay in the little cottage near the 
Lover’s Lane, rint free. As I have enough, 
an’ to spare, enclosed find a trifle to keep 
the pot boilin’ for the present.” (The trifle 
enclosed was an order for twenty pounds.) 

Many a time since has Mrs. Grady said, 
while gossiping with the neighbors: “Thanks 
be to God, an’ the noble man across the say, 
I have the roof to cover my head, an’ am not 
wantin’ for the bite, or the sup. Nancy is 
gettin’ good pay below in Cork as a same- 
stress. Mary is nursin’ childre’ in the middle 
road, an’ I goes out now art thin , to do a bit 
o’ washin’ for the quality. ” 

The evening subsequent to the robbery at 
Jerry Roe’s mill, was “All Hollow E’en,” or 
Snap-apple night, as it is best known by the 
peasantry of the south of Ireland. 

The place selected on this occasion, where- 
in to hold the festivities, was Mrs. Grady’s 
barn. Provisions contributed by each invited 
guest, (as is the custom) were sent in advance 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


79 


thereby obviating the necessity of the hostess 
laying out a penny for the supper to be par- 
taken of by the hungry pleasure seekers. 
Each girl must bring a sheaf of wheat; each 
young man a flail and a bag, (large or small) 
of apples; and every married man or woman, 
tallow candles, as many as they please, thus 
adding to the widow’s store for the winter 
many bushels of wheat, bags of apples, and 
dozens of candles. 

About dusk on the evening in question, 
Mrs. Grady, short of stature, but broad of 
girth, gray-haired, and red-faced, was hard 
at work decorating the barn with holly and 
ivy. She was assisted by her two daughters, 
Mary and Nancy, buxom colleens of about 
18 and 20 years, neither of whom could lay 
claim to good looks, but were known the 
county through as the good-hearted, good- 
tempered, and good-humored Grady girls. 
The widow was mounted on a ladder, and 
with hammer and nails, was putting in its 
proper place, over the door of the barn, a 
wreath of glossy green leaves, in the center 
of which was a sprig of mistletoe. “There,” 
said the proud mother, as she hit the last 
nail on the head, “ ’Tis done. Now girls ye 


80 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


can wish, an’ the first man that comes in the 
dure, ye can fight for. ” 

“I’ll fight for no man,” said Nancy, with a 
cull of the lip, as she assisted her mother 
from the ladder, 1 ‘They’re’ll be many a one 
come under that wrathe before the man I 
want comes.” 

“Oh, I suppose so; did Shamus Roe tell ye 
he’d come late, ” asked the widow with a good, 
natured laugh. 

‘ ‘He tould me he’d come anyway, ” replied 
Nancy. 

Mary, who had been looking through the 
window saw, just outside, the face of Con 
Fagin, for whom she had a warm corner in 
her heart, and being sure he’d be the first to 
enter, exclaimed: “Quick mother, quick, take 
away the ladder, I’ve made my wish ! ” At 
that moment the door opened, and with a 
“God save all here,” Barney Delaney, the 
piper, entered. 

“God save ye, kindly sur,” responded the 
widow. 

Nancy burst out laughing, while poor 
Mary felt like sinking through the floor. 

“Did ye get yer wish, Mary?” tantalizing 1 y' 
asked Nancy. 


SNAP- APPLE NIGHT. 


81 


“No,” replied Mary quietly. “But I may 
get mine sooner than you will yours.” 

4 4 Ah, sure dear, I was only tazin’ ye a 
trifle. May ye get yer wish in this world, 
an’ a pair o’ white wings in the nixt,” said 
Nancy, as she put her arm around her sister’s 
neck. 

“May the Lord keep all here from harm,” 
said Con Fagan, as he entered and closed the 
door behind him, 

“Amen,” devoutly answered Mrs. Grady. 

Con was a tall ungainly young man, with 
a good-looking face, and a pair of large gray 
eyes that were brim full of mischief. 

“Now’s yer time, Mary,” said Nancy. “Be 
the fust to come in the dure after him, an’ 
he’s yours. ” 

“Do ye think he is Nancy ?” asked poor 
innocent Mary. 

“Of course he is. Away wid ye, or some 
other girl’ll be before ye. ” 

Mary ran through the open door leading 
from the barn to the kitchen, and in a 
moment entered from the outside and under 
the legendary mistletoe. 

“Look Con,” said Nancy, “See who came 
under the mistletoe after ye.” Con looked 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


and blushed crimson. 

“Where wor ye, Mary ? ” asked Mrs. Grady. 

“Where was I mother?” Mary was con- 
fused. 4 4 Oh, I was — yis — I wint to the well 
for wather. ” 

4 ‘Where is the wather, Allanna. ” 

4 ‘Why you know mother, ’tis beyant in the 
well.” 

4 ‘But ye could’nt bring the well wid ye, 
an’ ye did’nt bring the wather. ” 

“Never mind, mother,” said Nancy. “She 
brought that which has done her more good. 
She brought the blush of pleasure to Con 
Fagin’s face when he saw who came under 
the wratlie after him. “Con blushed deeper, 
while Mary hung her head. 

“Ah,” sighed the widow, “Girls will be 
girls; more’s the pity.” 

“Yis mam, ’tis a pity,” chimed in Barney, 
“but sure, we could’nt all be boys.” 

“True for ye, Mr. Delaney,” replied Mrs. 
Grady. “Mary, do you stay here an’ attind 
to the company, while Nancy helps me wid 
the supper.” Nancy followed her mother 
into the kitchen. Outside shouts of joyous 
laughter heralded the approach of at least 
twelve or fifteen couple, bent on divarshun. 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 83 

Tlie first to enter under the magic wreath 
was Nelly O’Brien, followed by Mike Duffy; 
next came Kitty Maloney, followed by her 
shadow, jealous Tom Coleman. After fol- 
lowed pretty Nora Brennan, the coquette of 
the neighborhood; then the scrimmage began, 
such scrougeing, schuffling, pulling and 
hauling, (all good naturedly) among the boys, 
to see who would be the first to enter after 
the little beauty. In the scramble lame 
Dinny Grogan was thrown through the door 
and fell at the feet of the handsome Nora, 
much to her digust, as she expected to see 
some one else make his way to that coveted 
spot. After all had entered and quiet was 
restored, the girls took off their cloaks and 
hats, and hung them on nails driven in the 
wall for that purpose. Then came the thrash- 
ing of the wheat. Each girl lays her sheaf of 
wheat in front of the young man she admires 
or loves, as the case may be. If he accepts, 
(it is entirely optional with him) he acknow- 
ledges the compliment by kissing her. She 
then unbinds the sheaf and places it on a 
large sheet, which is spread in the center of 
the floor, there to await the fate, at her 
lover’s hands, of any one who dares insult 


84 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


her, namely a d — n good thrashing. Often 
three or four girls lay their sheafs at the feet 
of some Blarney tongued flatterer, who per- 
haps has been making love to all of them. 
This puts an end to the — “How happy could 
I be with either, were ’tother dear charmer 
away” — as of course he can only accept one, 
which he must do then and there. The favored 
colleen rises with a smile of triumph and gazes 
at her disappointed rivals, who crestfallen 
retire, only to be laughed at and teased by 
all assembled. If there happened to be more 
boys than girls at the gathering, the sheafs 
that went begging were thrashed the next 
day by the boys. 

Two stalwart fellows stood opposite each 
other in the center of the floor and in their 
shirt-sleeves; then as the boys and girls shout- 
ed, and the lively music came from the bag 
under Barney Delaney’s arm, each swing of 
the flail brought the golden grain from the 
large ripe ears. 

A shout of welcome greeted Alice Moyne, 
as she entered, accompanied by the miller of 
Glanmire. 

“The Lord bring a blessin’ upon all here,” 
said Jerry, as he entered. 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 85 

4 ‘Tlie same to you Mr. Roe, an’ Miss Alice,” 
came in chorus from all. 

Jerry placed Alice Moyne’s sheaf in the 
corner, and she having removed her large 
heavy cloak, he hung it up. 

“That’s right, boys ! ” exclaimed the miller, 
“Thrash away, help the poor widow,' an’ 
bring good luck to yerselves.” Several girls 
brought sheafs and laid them at the miller’s 
feet. “I’ll take yours Nelly.” The old man 
kissed her and took off his coat. 

“What are you going to do, Mr. Roe?” 
asked Alice. 

“I’m goin’ to thrash my shafe,” replied 
Jerry. 

“Thrash your sheaf. Why ! What do you 
mean ? ” and Alice looked surprised. 

‘ Ah ! of course you don’t know. This is 
the fust gatherin’ of the kind ye wor ever at 
on Snap-apple night. Wait, dear, an’ by-me- 
by ye’ll see the boys an’ girls douse in the tub 
an’ snap for the apples. Ye see, Alice, ’tis 
the custom for every girl who visits the wid- 
ow’s house on this night, to bring wid her a 
shafe o’whate, an for every man to thrash 
one. That brings luck to her who gives, an’ 
him who thrashes, an’ helps the poor widow 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


through the winter.” 

“Pshaw ! ” said Alice poutingly, “we might 
have brought several sheafs.” 

“So we might,” replied Jerry, “but that 
would spile the charm. ” 

“Charm! What charm?” 

“Well, ye see, Alice, if a girl brings more 
than one, that shows that she has two strings 
to her bow, an’ if a man thrashes more than 
one, he’ll have more than one wife. ” 

‘ T wish I had brought an odd one for you 
to thrash,” laughed Alice. 

“No, no, Alice, one was enough for me. 
God rest her soul. Come, Nelly, give me the 
flail, an’ Grogan do you get f orninst me. ” 

Little Dinny came forward. “I have no 
shafe, Mr. Roe.” 

4 ‘Here girls, some one o’ ye give Dinny a 
shafe,” commanded Jerry. 

Foi; a moment none of the girls moved. At 
length, Betty Nolan, tall, gaunt, not fair, but 
forty, advanced and laid her sheaf at Grogan’s 
feet, at which action there was a loud laugh. 

“I’m not high enough to kiss ye,” said 
Dinny looking up at her. 

“Thin get a chair, an’ maybe ye will,” re- 
plied Betty, not wishing to forgo her right 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


87 


to the act of osculation. Chairs, stools and 
benches were brought forward to give Dinny 
the requisite height, to the accompaniment 
of Barney’s pipes, and such exclaimations as 
“Good boy, Dinny,” “Take care she don’t 
swallow ye.” “’Tis the grate courage ye 
have,” etc. Long Betty Nolan’s purple lips 
were kissed for the first time since her angel 
mother performed that office. As soon as 
Grogan wiped the dew from his mouth, he 
took off his coat and began with Jerry to 
swing the flail. “Poor old man,” said Alice 
to herself, watching Jerry Boe. “Perhaps it 
is lucky he has only one sheaf to thrash. I’m 
afraid that will be too much for him. ” 

The voice of Shamus Roe was heard out- 
side. “Hould Nancy, schoolmaster, hould 
her ! ” he shouted, “Or she’ll go in the well.” 

“Well, if she does, I’ll not go wid her,” 
said Hannora, as he entered the barn. There 
was a short respite for Jerry and Dinny 
when Hannora entered, as all ran to welcome 
her. 

“Yer here soon, Alice,” said Hannora, as 
she placed her sheaf in the corner, and re- 
moved her hat and cloak. “Where’s Nale?” 

“Angry with me,” replied Alice, “And 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


won’t come.” 

4 4 Angry wid ye. What for ? ” 

4 ‘Because I insisted on his being searched 
yesterday. I only did it to prove to Maurice 
Ronyane that he was innocent. Don’t you 
think I did right, Hannora ? ” 

44 0f course ye did,” answered Hannora. 

Jerry and Dinny had resumed their labor 
as Shamus Roe swung the door open. 4 4 God 
save all here, barrin’ the cat,” said the smil- 
ing vagabond, as he entered, followed by 
Tyler McCabe, the schoolmaster, 

“The same to you, an’ the schoolmaster. 
’Tis welcome ye are, ” came in unison from 
all. 

4 ‘More power to ye, Uncle Jerry, to swing 
the flail, ” and Shamus slapped the miller on 
the back. 

4 ‘Ah ! indeed,” said Jerry, throwing the 
flail aside. 44 ’Tis little power is left in me, 
Shamus. A minute more an’ the flail i’d be 
swingin’ me.” At this there was a general 
laugh. Alice, Hannora and several girls 
brought sheafs and laid them before Shamus 
and the schoolmaster. 

4 ‘Oh ! schoolmaster, will ye look!” said Sha- 
mus, “all waitin’ to be thrashed.” 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


89 


“Wlio, the girls ? No, Shamus, it goes agin 
me to do that, hut it’s many the boy I’ve 
thrashed for being late.” 

“Then to plaze the girls you must thrash 
the whate. Whisper, schoolmaster, that’s po- 
etry, but don’t tell anyone. ” 

“I won’t, Shamus,” and Tyler laughed. 

“I’ll take yours, Hannora,” said Shamus, as 
he removed his coat. 

“And I’ll take yours Alice,” said Tyler, 
“although I’m af eared the strength isn’t in 
me to bring many grains out of it.” After 
the customary kiss, Shamus smacked his lips 
and said : “That puts a power o’ strength 
into me. Come, schoolmaster, stand opposit 
me there, an’ I’ll bring the limpid strame 
upon yer brow.” 

“Well as long as ye don’t bring yer flail 
upon my toe, I don’t care,” replied the school- 
master. With shouts of laughter, words of 
encouragement, and the playing of the pipes, 
the men began their task. After a minute 
or two, Tyler was blowing hard and fast. 
“The flail is harder to handle than the birch. 
Ain’t it, schoolmaster ? ” laughed Shamus. 

“Well, I’ve — I’ve han — handled bo — both 
purty well in my — my time, but I’m too oul — 


90 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


ould for ye, Sham — Shamus,” and Tyler 
stopped. 

“Ah thin, Fm not too onld for him,” said 
Hannora, as she took the flail from Tyler, 
and faced Shamus. 

“No,” said Shamus leaning on his flail, 
and looking at her, “Yer just the right age, 
Hannora; about the same age my mother was 
whin she got married. ” 

“I was’nt talkin’ about marriage,” said 
Hannora, with a pout. 

“No, but I was,” replied Shamus. 

“Yer always talkin’ nonsense,” said Han- 
nora, with a toss of her head. 

“Be my conscience,” laughed Shamus. 
“Maybe ’tis no nonsense ye’ll find it, whin 
ye put yer head in the noose.” 

“Well, IT take care that your’e not the 
hangman anyway,” and Hannora slapped his 
face good and strong. In the midst of a 
roar of laughter Mrs. Grady entered from 
the kitchen. 

“Ah, wisha, ’tis welcome ye are, one an’ 
all,” said the old lady, as she advanced and 
shook hands with Alice and Hannora. 

“Miss Moyne, an’ Hannora McCabe, ’tis 
honored the ould barn should be, to have ye 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


91 


both in it. Oh, Musha Schoolmaster, ’tis 
young yer lookin’. If I was’nt so onld, ’tis 
my cap I’d be settin’ for ye myself.” 

“Look out,” said Shamus to Hannora, 
“that he don’t make Mrs. Grady yer step- 
mother. ” 

4 'Look out for yerself , ” answered Hannora, 

4 ‘that yon don’t make Mrs. Grady yer mother- 
in-law.” 

“An’ Jurry Eoe, an’ Shamus,” continued 
the widow. “Well, the Lord be praised for 
all our friends. Whisper Shamus. ” She drew 
him aside; “Nancy is in the kitchen.” 

“Well, bad luck to her,” said Shamus, 
“How did she get there? I left her tied to the 
cart awhile ago.” 

“Is it my Nancy tied to a cart ? ” and Mrs. 
Grady looked at him in astonishment. 

“Where else i’d she be tied,” replied Sha- 
mus. “Only where she gets plinty to ate.” 

“Is it my Nancy ate out of a cart ! ” shouted 
Mrs. Grady. Alice and Hannora ran to 
her. 

“What is it ? What ails ye ? ” asked Han- 
nora. ‘ ‘What made ye screech ? ” 

‘•Why wouldn’t I screech, when that vil- 
lain says that my Nancy is outside tied to a 


92 


THE MILLER OP GLANMIRE. 


cart, an’ aitin’ out of it.” 

4 4 Your Nancy? ” and Shamus laughed. 4 4 Ah! 
Mrs. Grady, I was spakin’ about the horse, I 
wasn’t thinkin’ o’ your Nancy.” 

44 0h ! thin I wish she could forget as aisy 
an’ not be thinkin’ o’ you. Look Hannora 
an’ Miss Moyne, ever since he was here last 
Sunday Nancy does nothing but mope. Not 
a morsel does she ate, an’ hardly spakes, but 
I suppose the love that’s in her for this en- 
gagin’ vagabone has made her dumb.” 

44 I wish to the Lord,” said Shamus aside, 
“that something i’d make you dumb.” 

44 So ye engagin’ vagabone,” said Hannora, 
as she seized Shamus by the ear and dragged 
him towards her, “that’s how ye wor tryin’ 
the Sure for the dance to-night. Ah ? I 
wish I had howld o’ yer hair.” 

“An’ I wish I had a howld o’ that ould 
woman’s tongue,” said Shamus as he released 
his ear from between Hannora’s thumb and 
finger. “Come, Mrs. Grady, he continued, 

4 4 come put the apples in the tub, an’ lave us 
have a douse.” 

4 ‘Time enough, ” replied the widow. 4 ‘Wait 
till I tell ye. ” 

“Ali! ye’ve tould enough to-night,” said 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


93 


Sliamus. 

“No!” exclaimed Hannora, “Not half 
enough, go on Mrs. Grady.” 

‘ ‘Abby Creigh is there, ” and Mrs. Grady 
pointed towards the kitchen. 

The mention of that name brought all to 
their feet, and Abby Creigh, was whisper- 
ed from one to the other. ‘ ‘Yis, ” continued 
Mrs. Grady. 4 ‘She’s beyant sittin’ by the hob 
in the kitchen. Ah, poor crature, I well re- 
mimber the time, when she did’nt have to 
come for a hate o’ the fire, or the bite to ate at 
a neighbor’s house, but that was before his 
riverence, her brother Owen, was murdered. 
The Lord a’ marcy on him.” 

4 ‘Amen ! ” came from all present. 

“I thought,” said Tyler McCabe, “that she 
was in the mad house. ” 

“She was,” replied the widow, “but may- 
be they druv her out, whin she had no money 
to pay, poor thing.” 

4 ‘More likely she escaped, ” said Tyler, 4 ‘but 
I dare say she’s harmless.” 

“Quiet as a lamb,” replied Mrs. Grady. 

“Ah, it was a sad day when some beast in 
human form broke up that happy home by 
murdering a worthy man and sending her 


94 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


forth into the cold world bereft of her reason, ” 
and tears came into the eyes of the school- 
master. 

‘ ‘That he may never prosper, whoever he 
is,” exclaimed the miller. 

“Well he would’nt, if I could ketch him,” 
said Shamus. 

“That’s a vain hope now,” said Tyler. 
“It’s over two years since the sacrilegious 
wretch broke into the sacred edifice and 
murdered the servant of the Lord. ” 

4 ‘Do you think Abby witnessed the deed ? ” 
asked Alice. 

“Not likely,” replied the schoolmaster, “or 
he would have ended her.” 

“Maybe ’twould have been the best for 
poor Abby if he had, bad luck to him,” said 
Shamus. 

• ‘ He only knows what is best, ” and the 
schoolmaster pointed upward. 

‘ ‘My theory has always been, that hearing 
her brother’s cry for help, Abby ran to his 
assistance (but too late) and at her ap- 
proach the scoundrel fled. At sight of the 
priest’s face, her reason must have joined 
his spirit. The next morning being Sunday, 
the first to arrive at the chapel found Abby 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


95 


Creigli kneeling beside Father Owen, her 
mind as dead as his body.” 

“More’s the pity,” wailed Mrs. Grady. 
“Before that day she was the life an’ sonl 
of Glanmire, for she could sing like a bird 
an’ play upon the organ like a’ angel.” 

“Did ye ever hear one play?” asked 
Shamus. At this there was a suppressed 
laugh as the near presence of mad Abby 
Creigli had dampened the spirits of all assem- 
bled. 

“Ah, don’t be botherin’ me, Shamus Koe,” 
replied Mrs. Grady, “but lave me tell my 
story.” 

“She’s wound up for the night now,” 
laughed Shamus. 

“When she kep house for his riverence in 
the cottage nixt dure to the chapel ” 

‘ ‘The cottage and the chapel are in ruins 
now, ” interrupted Tyler, 4 ‘and I don’t believe 
a living soul has entered either one since he 
was buried. ” 

“Small blame to them,” replied the widow. 
“The chapel’s haunted. Mind ye, I never 
repate what I hear.” 

“No, mam,” said Shamus, “ye don’t unless 
ye have some one to listen to ye.” 


96 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Shamus Roe, I’m the last one to gossip.” 

“Indeed ye are mam,” replied Shamus. 
“Always the last one.” 

“Whisper;” and the widow assumed an air 
of mystery, as all gathered around her. 4 ‘The 
travelers that do be cornin’ through Glanmire 
from Cork, or Queenstown, says that lately 
they hears strange noises in the chapel. One 
o’ them saw the ghost o’ Father Owen, (the 
Lord betune us an all harm) and the old lady 
made the sign of the cross, “standin’ in the 
windy, an’ another heard the ould organ 
playin’ beautiful tunes.” 

“Ah! woman, what are ye talkin’ about,” 
exclaimed Tyler. ‘ ‘Come Shamus, give us a 
song to rise the spirits in us.” 

“I will, schoolmaster, or to drive them 
away,” replied Shamus, or Mrs. GradyTlliave 
all the ghosts from the haunted chapel snap- 
pin’ at the apples, an’ dancin’ jigs wid us 
in five minutes,” and Shamus laughed. 

‘ ‘ Y e may laugh at the spirits, Shamus Roe, ” 
said Mrs. Grady, ‘ ‘but ’tis far away from the 
haunted chapel ye’ll keep. Ye haven’t the 
courage to go there.” 

“No, mam; I haven’t. It’ll take all the 
courage I have to keep me away from the 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


97 


spirits beyant at the Sack O’ Flour.” There 
was a laugh, and loud demands for the prom- 
ised song, when after much coaxing, the sil- 
ver-tongued vagabond sang the following : 

“the gikls say i’m full of the blakney.” 

“Pm a tight Irish boy from the town of Fermoy, 

The most beautiful place ever seen ; 

There the colleens are coy, an’ the men full of joy, 
And the fields are so lovely and green. 

Of course ye’ll all ask why I left that fine place, 

But first let me say I’m called Barney ; 

I left, bekase there I could never get pace, 

For the girls say I’m full of the blarney. ” 

“It’s there ye’ll find maids of all classes and grades, 
Some lean, an’ some short, an’ some tall ; 

Some stout an’ some thin, an’ some, ugly as sin, 

But I promised to marry them all. 

There’s Bridget McGee, an’ Judy McKee, 

Fat Nance, and a widow called Kearney, 

An’ little Nell Fay, used to smile when she’d say : 

‘Ye blackgard, yer full of the blarney. ’ ” 

“ So after a spell, when they fonnd out the sell, 

They all came to know who I’d marry, 

’ Twas more fun than a fair, an’ such pulling of hair, 
So I thought it was no place to tarry. 

Fat Nance, full of spite, said for me she would fight, 
An’ blackened the eye of Miss Kearney ; 

An’ little Nell sighed, an’ poor Judy she cried; 

An’ they all said : ‘ Bad luck to his blarney. ’ ” 


Note — The above song, words and music, by Con T. Mur- 
phy, is published by Balmer & Weber, St. Louis, Mo, 


98 


THE MILLER OF GL AN MIRE. 


After Shamus Roe’s song and the applause 
had subsided, Con Fagin lowered a large hoop 
that was suspended from the roof in the cen- 
ter of the barn. Around this hoop were placed 
alternately and about three inches apart, an 
apple and a short piece of lighted candle, so 
with your hands behind your back, the hoop 
revolving, and you snapping at the articles 
thereon, it was a difficult matter to know 
whether you’d get your mouth full of fruit or 
of tallow. As Con was lighting the candles 
on the hoop, and Mary was putting the apples 
into a large tub of water, to be douced for, 
Mrs. Grady called Shamus aside, and said, 
with a wink and a prod of her elbow in his 
ribs : “Nancy i’d be here only she’s gettin’ 
the supper. For the last twinty minutes I’ve 
had her over the frying pan.” 

4 4 Yis mam, an’ for the last twinty minutes 
ye had me in it,” said Shamus, as he walked 
away from her. 

“Now boys*an’ girls, douce in the tub, an’ 
snap at the apples to yer heart’s content, 
while I go an’ see that the supper don’t spile,” 
and Mrs. Grady entered the kitchen for that 
laudable purpose. Barney squeezed the bag, 
and with shouts and laughter the boys and 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 99 

girls, (young and old), douced in the tub 
and snapped at the apples. The fun was at 
its height when the door opened and Maur- 
ice Ronyane entered. He looked on for a 
moment unobserved, and then — “Foolish, 
but enjoyable I dare say,” was his comment. 
At sound of his voice, there was a lull in the 
merry-making, as all gazed at the intruder. 

“A very pretty picture upon my word,” 
said Jerry Roe’s partner. 

“Yis,” replied Shamus, “An’ ’tis a grate 
pity a cloud came in the background to spile 
it.” 

“Shamus Roe!” exclaimed Ronyane, ad- 
vancing, “take care ! ” 

“I will,” said Shamus, putting his arms 
around Alice and Hannora. 

“I’ll take care of all I hould dear, while 
your’e around.” 

‘ T have a few words to say to Miss Moyne.” 

“If she wants to hear them, yis, if not, no,” 
and Shamus drew Alice closer to his side. 

“I will hear what he has to say Shamus,” 
said Alice. Shamus withdrew his arm from 
around her waist, as Mrs. Grady’s voice was 
heard calling all to supper. The guests 
passed through Mrs. Grady’s kitchen, into 


100 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

the cosy sitting room where the table was 
spread. 

“Must I leave her widhim?” asked Shamus 
of Hannora. 4 ‘Don’t ye think I’d better wait. ” 

“Wait, an’ break a poor girl’s heart,” 
laughed Hannora. 

“What girl’s heart? ” asked Shamus. 

“Nancy’s, ye engagin’ vagabone. Don’t ye 
know she’s waitin’ for ye inside, ” and push- 
ing Shamus into the kitchen, Hannora, full 
of laughter, followed him. 

‘ ‘Why are you here, and what have you to 
say to me?” inquired Alice of Maurice Ro- 
nyane. 

‘ ‘I am here because I knew I should find 
you here, and to ask you if you thought well 
of what you said to me yesterday.” 

‘ ‘I have given it all the thought it requires. ” 

“And you will throw me aside for a man 
who is accused of theft.” 

“But who is as innocent as I am, and you 
know it.” 

‘ ‘I do not know it. ” 

“Ah, Maurice Ronyane, it is a cowardly 
revenge for a rival to try and blast the good 
name of the favored one by such a foul 
accusation. ” 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


101 


4 ‘I do not recognize him as a rival, ” sneer- 
ed Ronyane. “He is a thief.” 

“You would not dare to tell him so.” 

4 4 I would. Why is he not here ? ” 

4 ‘Because — ” and the hot blood rushed to 
the face of Alice Moyne, as she with 
bowed head, answered: “that is his affair.” 

“I will tell you. Because he would not dare 
to mingle with honest men.” 

4 ‘That is false, being an honest man him- 
self. Is this all you have to say to me?” 

“No, I must have the lease of the mill.” 

44 Must have it,” and Alice laughed. 

4 4 Yes ! must” replied Ronayne with decis- 
ion. 

“And so you shall, if the firm remains as 
it is.” 

4 ‘/ must have the mill alone. ” 

4 ‘Impossible to have the mill alone, when 
you cannot have the lease.” 

‘ ‘Who will prevent me ? ” 

“I will ! ” answered Alice quietly.” 

“By what right? ” 

“ A proprietary one, /being owner of the 
mill.” 

“Suppose I should deny that?” 

“Then, I would laugh at you, and say you 


102 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


were mad.” 

“Listen to me, Alice Moyne. What if I 
were to tell you that your father and mother 
were never married. That you are a child of 
shame f 

“I would say you lied , you cowardly scoun- 
drel ! The record of their marriage is in the 
little chapel, in Lover’s Lane.” 

“ Was there, you mean,” laughed Maurice 
Ronyane, “if indeed such a document ever 
existed.” 

1 ‘ Is there, ” replied Alice indignantly, ‘ ‘and 
as God is just, such document does exist. 
Why it was only a moment ago the good 
schoolmaster said no living soul had entered 
the little chapel since the holy priest who 
made my father and mother one was murder- 
ed.” 

“Well, since you are so positive that sucn 
. a record does exist, I will give you until the 
day after to-morrow to produce it. Then if 
you fail, what proof can you offer that my 
words are not true ? ” 

“The best,” and a holy light shone in the 
beautiful eyes of Alice Moyne. “My implicit 
faith in the honor of your father’s sister — my 
angel mother.” 


SNAP- APPLE NIGHT 103 

4 ‘Such proof would hardly be accepted in 
a court of justice,” laughed Ronyane. 

4 4 Ah ! Maurice Ronyane, you lord it well 
over a defenceless girl. God forgive me, for 
the first time in my life I wish I were a 
man. ” 

44 Well, and if you were, what would you 
do?” 

4 4 What would I do? ” replied Alice. And 
the coward winced as she continued. 44 I 
would horsewhip you from the little chapel 
in the Lover’s Lane, where my father and 
mother were married, to the churchyard 
where they lie in peace, and there above 
their graves, upon your knees, make you 
beg their pardon. Shame upon you, shame ! ” 
And she left the depraved scoundrel to his 
thoughts, while she entered Mrs. Grady’s 
humble sitting room, to mingle with the 
honest hearts assembled there. 

44 I am afraid of her,” said Ronyane. 
“Women who don’t cry are hard to fight.” 

4 ‘True for ye,” said Tobe O’Keefe, who 
had just entered, dressed like a jumping 
jack. 

“What brings you here?” inquired Mau- 


rice. 


104 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Fun, of course,” replied Tobe. “Are you. 
enjoyin’ yerself ? ” 

“Oil ! hugely,” answered Ronyane. “And 
I think I’ve made it pleasant for others.” 

“It’s a way ye have,” laughed the smiler. 

“I should think this would be the last 
place you’d come,” said Ronyane. 

“No, the fust,” replied Tobe. “Don’t ye 
see, if I was to stay away to-night above all 
nights, some one when they’re talkin’ over 
the robbery might be unkind enough to say 
I done it. 

“That would be unkind,” laughed Ro- 
nyane; “No matter, we’ve failed in our pur- 
pose by some one out-doing us.” 

4 ‘That’s what bothers me entirely. Who 
could have taken it out o’ the coat ? ” 

“Perhaps it was never placed in the coat.” 

“Ah, Mr. Ronyane,” whined the syco- 
phant, “would ye doubt my honesty?” 

‘ T know you, Tobe O’Keefe, and I know 
that you are fond of money.” 

1 ‘Oh, I am, I am, but I’m fonder of re- 
venge. ” 

“I have a plan, which, if successful, will 
give us money and revenge. ” 

“Ye have, what is it, what is it?” and a 


SNAP-APPLE NIGHT. 


105 


smile illuminated the broad features of Tobe. 

“One that will make Alice Moyne wish 
she had never been born, and Neil Brandon 
rue the day he ever loved her, for the fellow 
is proud.” 

‘ ‘His pride was taken down a peg yister- 
day, ” laughed Tobe. 

‘ ‘And for that reason, ” replied Ronyane, 
“he will never rest until he discovers who 
took the money from the mill.” 

‘ ‘Ah thin, my prayer is, that he may never 
rest,” said Tobe. 

“ Your prayer” and Ronyane laughed. 
“What the devil good is your prayer; scheme- 
ing is more in your way; listen to me.” Had 
Maurice Ronyane looked over his shoulder, 
he would have hesitated er’e he had made 
the large ear of Tobe O’Keefe the recipient 
of his villainous scheme. A woman stood 
just inside the kitchen door. She was clad 
in a gown of dark coarse stuff, with a plaid 
shawl over her head and held so as to almost 
conceal her face, a pair of large black glassy 
eyes gazed at the conspirators. As Ronyane, 
entirely ignorant of the presence of a third 
party, continued : ‘ ‘The record of the mar- 

riage of Alice Moyne’s father and mother 


106 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


must be destroyed.” 

‘'Destroyed ! For wliat? ” asked Tobe. 

“Can’t you see ! No marriage ; no heiress.” 

“Oh ! I see, I see,” and O’Keefe became in- 
terested. 

‘ ‘ I am the next of kin. ” 

‘ ‘So ye are, ” said Tobe, a new light dawn- 
ing upon him. “My ! My ! what a head ye 
have upon ye ; fit for parliment. Where’s 
the record to be found ? ” 

“In the ruined cliapel in Lover’s Lane.” 
Tobe shuddered. At mention of the ruined 
chapel, a flash of intelligence shone in the 
sunken eyes of poor unfortunate mad Abby 
Creigh as she noiselessly opened the barn 
door and went out into the night. 

“Who’s to go in the chapel for it?” asked 
Tobe. 

“You are.” 

“No, no, no!” and the miserable wretch 
trembled with fear. “I’ll not go near the 
haunted chapel. Tm af eared.” 

‘ ‘And I’m af eared, if you don’t, you’ll lose 
the Sack O’ Flour.” 

“Whin, whin is it to be done ? ” gasped the 
cowardly scoundrel. ‘ ‘To-night is it ? ” 

“No ! to-morrow night.” Tobe gave a sigh 


SNAP- APPLE NIGHT. 


107 


of relief, as Ronyane continued : 4 'There 

will be less chance of stragglers in the Lover’s 
Lane, as they will be sleeping off the effects 
this night’s fun. ’Twere best we were not 
seen here together. Go down the road and re- 
turn when they come back from supper. It 
will look as though you had just arrived.” 

44 I hardly think they’ll hail my arrival wid 
joy,” sneered Tobe. 

“No matter how they receive you, make 
yourself agreeable if you can.” 

‘Til try,” replied Tobe, opening the door to 
go out. As he crossed the threshold he utter- 
ed an oath and called Ronyane to his side. 

44 0h, will ye look! Little Danny, the 
villain, an’ beckonin’ to some one through 
the windy. Who can it be, I dunno. ” 

“Alice Moyne of course, ” replied Ronyane. 
“I’ll stake my life he has a message for her 
from Brandon.” 

“He’s cornin’,” said Tobe, as they re-entered 
the barn and closed the door. 4 ‘Lave us hide, 
an’ maybe we’ll find out what he’s here for.” 
And the two worthies concealed themselves 
under the well-tlirashed straw in the corner, 
there to await events. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE FAIRY’S GIFT TO ALICE MOYNE. 

Pale, lean and hungry looking, as when he 
took the money from Neil Brandon’s coat 
pocket, little Danny O’Keefe entered the barn 
and looked cautiously around. “There’s no 
one here, barrin’ Mr. Delaney’s pipes. I wish 
I could play a tune upon tliim, but sure there 
isn’t wind enough in me to fill the bag,” said 
the little fellow, as he picked up a flail. ‘ ‘I’m 
very cowld, maybe if I was to give the straw 
in the corner beyant a good flailin’ ’twould 
warm me.” There was a perceptible move- 
ment of the aforesaid straw. “No, they 
might hear me inside, an’ that would spile it 
all, as I must see Alice alone,” and he laid 
the flail aside. “I’m sorry she did’nt see me 
through the windy. I dunno what to do wid 


THE FAIRY’S GIFT TO ALICE. 109 


this piece o’ paper Nale gave me to give to 
her. Poor Nale. I met him above by the 
haunted chapel. I was goin’ to give him the 
money, but he looked so black an’ wild that 
I thought if I did maybe he’d have me tuck 
up, an’ thin the Lord help me. I’ll give it to 
Alice, an’ she can give it to him. Nale tould 
me to lave no one see me give her this piece 
o’ paper, but how can I do it, whin I can’t 
find her be herself here. Why did’nt she 
look through the windy. Well, I suppose I 
must wait below at her cottage ’till she comes 
home. ” As he turned to go, his eyes fell on 
the row of cloaks hanging on the wall. 1 ‘Oh, 
there’s her cloak, I know it well, for ’tis 
many the pinny she gave me out o’ the pocket 
of it, an’ is’nt many’s the pinny I can put 
back in it now. The fairies do be out to- 
night, an’ she’ll think ’tis one o’ them. Oh, 
but ’tis funny takin’ the money out o’ Nale’s 
pocket an’ puttin’ it in lier’s, an’ won’t they 
both laugh, whin she gives it to him.” As he 
put his hand in Alice Moyne’s cloak pocket, 
he found her handkerchief. “I’ll tie it up 
in this, an’ put JYale’s paper on top;” and 
standing within a foot of the real culprits, he 
tied the stolen money in the dainty handker- 


110 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


chief of Alice Moyne. ^ “There,” said he, as 
he put the small bundle in the pocket of the 
cloak with Neil Brandon’s note on top. 
“Now my mind is aisy, for Nale’llget it. I 
thought I’d go to America, but I was af eared 
I’d be axed where I got so much money.” 
Just then the voice of Hannora McCabe was 
heard singing “The Pretty Girl Milking her 
Cow. ” ‘ ‘Ah, ’tis lashins o’ fun they’re havin’ 
in there,” and the tears came into the poor 
boy’s eyes. ‘ ‘God help me, I have no snap- 
apple night any more. I’d like to have a 
douce for one o’ them apples,” as he looked 
at the tempting fruit floating on the water 
in the tub, ‘ ‘but I don’t like the water on my 
head. Well, it would’nt hurt my hands any- 
way,” and Danny filled the large pockets of 
his larger coat with apples. “I’ll have my 
snap-apple wid these up near the haunted 
chapel, where I hears the beautiful music. 
Oh, won’t Miss Alice laugh whin she finds 
what the Fairy brought her,” and munching 
a large ripe apple, Danny quited the barn. 
He had hardly disappeared when the large 
head of Tobe was pushed through the straw. 
“Well, bad luck to him,” exclaimed the love- 
ing uncle, “so ’twas him that took the money. 


THE FAIRY’S GIFT TO ALICE. Ill 


Oh, wait ’till I get my hands upon him,” and 
rising, lie made a rush for Alice Moyne’s 
cloak. 

4 4 What would you do ? ” said Ronyane, re- 
straining him, 

44 Get the money,” replied Tobe. 

“Do not touch it ! Why was it put in Neal 
Brandon’s coat ? ” 

4 4 Why ! In order to accuse him o’ the rob- 
bery.” 

4 -Leave it where it is, ” said Ronyane, in a 
whisper, 4 ‘Can’t we accuse her ? ” 

4 ‘Oh! ’tis the grate schamer ye are,” and 
Tobe chuckled. Loud laughing, talking and 
moving of chairs was heard inside. 

“They are coming,” said Ronyane. “Away 
with you and bide your time.” 

“Oh, lave me alone, lave me alone ! ” said 
Tobe, as he went out followed by Ronyane. 

“Now thin, boys an’ girls ! ” shouted Sha- 
mus, as he entered followed by the revellers, 
“Since yev ate an’ drank yer fill, get yer 
partners for a four-handed reel. Schoolmas- 
ter, de you dance wid Alice, Uncle Jurry, 
there’s Nelly beyant.” 

“Lave her stay beyant!” replied Jerry, 
“I’ll stay where I am, an’ have a shough o’ 


112 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


the pipe.” 

Barney Delaney was again at his post and 
well able to fill the bag. The music began 
and the boys and girls welted the floor of the 
old barn with their feet until it trembled. 
The last figure of the reel was nearly ended 
as Tobe O’Keefe entered. 

“More power to yez all, dance away, that’s 
right ! ” 

‘ ‘Is it ! ” said Shamus, looking at the in- 
truder. “I was af eared you’d think ’twas 
wrong, an’ we’ve so much regard for yer 
scruples, that we’d stop if ye did. But don’t 
think, ye ‘bird of ill-omen,’ that because 
your’e here, it’ll stop our fun. Come girls, 
get your hankechers an’ hide them, an’ boys 
shut yer eyes an’ see who’ll be the first to 
find yer sweethearts an’ kiss her purty lips. ” 
Some of the girls took their handkerchiefs 
from their dress pockets, while others got 
them from their cloaks. Among the later 
was Alice Moyne. She did not notice that 
her handkerchief contained anything, for as 
she took it from her pocket, Neil’s note fell to 
the floor. She picked it up, and while the 
boys stood with closed eyes, and the girls hid 
their handkerchiefs in all sorts of places, 


Don't think, ye bird of ill omen, that because you're here it'll stop our fun.' 






































































THE FAIRY’S GIFT TO ALICE. 113 
Alice read tlie following : 

“Alice: — As I cannot see you to-night, (where you are 
enjoying yourself with others), meet me to-morrow evening at 
eight, near the haunted chapel, in the Lover’s Lane. 

“Neil. ” 

“Enjoying myself with others. Can he 
have been here,” mentally ejaculated Alice, 
as she looked around all unconscious of the 
little bundle held in her hand. 

4 4 What ails, ye Alice, an’ what have ye in 
the bundle ? ” inquired Hannora, as she play- 
fully snatched the “Fairy’s Gift,” and open- 
ing the handkerchief, let the money stolen 
from Jerry Boe’s mill fall on the floor. “Oh ! 
what a foolish girl ye are to carry so much 
money wid ye.” 

Alice looked at the money as if dazed, 
while “Smilin’ Tobe” fell on his knees, and 
picking up the notes, shouted : 

“Oh ! be the piper o’ war ’tis the money,” 

4 4 What money ? ” asked the schoolmaster. 

“The money stole from the mill,” replied 
Tobe, as he jumped up and held a torn note 
towards Tyler. “Look ! schoolmaster, look ! 
The torn one pound note, number Three thou- 
sand, three hundert and thirty-three, that you 
wouldn’t take yesterday from Nale Brandon, 
an’ ye gave back to him. Mind ye, gave it 


114 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


back to him .” 

“My God !” cried Alice in despair. “Can 
he have sent this to me ? ” 

“Alice, asthore,” said the miller. “Where 
did ye get this money ? ” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know!” 
wailed the unhappy girl, as she fell sobbing 
on Hannora’s breast. Maurice Ronyane who 
had entered as Tobe was showing the torn 
note to the schoolmaster, came forward and 
sneeringly said : 

“Perhaps the honest miller, Neil Brandon, 
sent it to her for safe keeping ? ” 

“Perhaps you know more about it than he 
does, Maurice Ronyane,” said Shamus. 

“Then why is he not here to accuse me, as 
I do him. Why is he not here to defend 
her?” 

“Defend who? ” asked Jerry Roe. 

“Alice Moyne,” replied his partner. “Let 
her explain how this money came in her 
possession and clear herself if she can.” 

“If she can!” And Shamus Roe con- 
fronted the ‘ 4 gentleman ” miller. 

4 ‘See here, Maurice Ronyane, if you dare 
to accuse that innocent girl of the robbery 
in the mill, she’ll find a defender in me that 


THE FAIRY’S GIFT TO ALICE. 115 


you won’t relish.” 

“Oh, Neil, Neil!” sobbed Alice. “Why 
are you not here ? ” 

“Bekase he’s af eared he’d be tuck up,” 
said Tobe. “What more proof do we want? 
The money was found upon you. So ’tis 
aither him or you. If he was here, what 
would he do ? ” 

“What would he do?” roared Shamus, as 
he seized Tobe by the throat. He’d do as 
I’m doin’, he’d throttle the blackguard who 
dared insult the girl he loves ; throw him 
down, an’ put his foot upon his neck. ” And 
Shamus suited the action to the word, until 
the purple-faced scoundrel begged for mercy. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 

Saint Mary’s, or as it is better known in 
Glanmire, the haunted chapel, was built 
years previous to the opening of this story. 
It stands on a crag, nearly at the end of the 
Lover’s Lane, overlooking the River Lee, and 
directly opposite “Black Rock Castle.” The 
small structure is Gothic, and built of stone. 
Years ago the tourist on the boat from 
Queenstown to Cork, would ask: “What 
is that up there among the trees?” The 
answer was: “Saint Mary’s on th6 Crag.” 
To-day the answer to the same question is : 
“The Haunted Chapel.” 

Adjacent to the chapel, and built of like 
material, is a cottage which, until two years 
ago, was the happy home of Father Owen 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 117 

Creigh, and liis only sister, Abby. Father 
Owen superintended the construction of 
Saint Mary’s, and was its only shepherd, for 
since the holy man’s untimely death, no 
congregation has ever knelt inside its walls. 
The exterior is almost covered with moss and 
ivy, in which are birds nests innumerable. 
The diamond - shaped stained glass and 
window sash have disappeared. (Evidently 
the work of vandals.) Yet, strange to say, 
the interior of the little chapel is clean and 
neat. The altar cloth is faded, but not 
from dust or mold ; even the small cabinet 
organ looks as though the dust cloth had been 
over its polished surface daily. The super- 
stitious of Glanmire avoids the crag, es- 
pecially at night. But often can be seen the 
artist tourist seated on the little stone wall 
which surrounds Saint Mary’s, taking a 
bird’s eye view of the Biver Lee and the 
country near by, or sketching the haunted 
chapel and deserted cottage. 

On the night succeeding snap-apple, at 
about eight o’clock, anyone ascending Lover’s 
Lane from the middle road, would have heard 
the strains of weird, melancholy music in the 
direction of the crag, and as the last note 


118 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


floated away and died in the balmy evening 
air, they would have heard a wail ( the wail of 
a broken heart) come from inside the haunted 
chapel. If this did not retard their footsteps, 
and they still possessed the courage to go on, 
they would have seen an object emerge from 
the tangled ivy growing on the wall near the 
chapel, and heard the puny voice of little 
Danny O’Keefe : “Was I drainin’, or did I 
hear the beautiful music agin. Was it that 
that woke me, or the hunger ? 4 ‘Oh ! ” 

the little fellow sighed, “I think it was 
the hunger. The fairies wasn’t good to 
me last night, when they didn’t lave 
me see Miss Alice. She’d a gave me 
somethin’ to ate. The other day she called 
me a poor unfortunate waif. I dunno what 
that is, maybe she meant a wafer, I’m so thin. 
Wait till she sees me, if I don’t get somethin’ 
to ate soon,” and Danny laughed a sickly 
laugh. “I wonder if all poor boys has as 
much fun as I do ; the crag for my bed ; the 
sky for my coverin ’ ; the dew for my break- 
fast, an’ an uncle who bates me, God help 
me ! ” The child looked toward the moonlit 
sky, and cried : “ Oh mother ! mother ! why 

didn’t ye take me wid ye whin ye 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 


119 


died.” Just then strains of heavenly music 
came from the chapel. The boy listened as 
though entranced. As the music ceased Danny 
ran, and parting the ivy over the window, 
looked into the chapel. u ’Tis all dark in 
there ; that’s where the music is, but I can’t see 
who makes it. Maybe, ’tis the ghost of Father 
Owen. ” He left the window and leaned against 
the stone wall. “Can ghosts play music? I 
dunno. If I was to tell tliim this below in 
Grlanmire, they’d I say I was bewitched. No 
one knows but Shamus that I hears it. I hear 
tell that angels play upon goolden harps. I 
know. ’Tis my mother playin’ up in Heaven. 
I wish she’d play agin, for whin I hears the 
music, I forgets the hunger. Hark ! I hear 
some one walking in the lane ; maybe, ’tis 
Uncle Tobe huntin’ for me, but he’ll not find 
me ; I’ll hide ! I’ll hide, ” and the unfortu- 
nate, but well-meaning emissary of the fairies, 
ran and hid in the shadow of the deserted 
cottage. 

The full moon was nearly at its height, as 
Neil Brandon approached the haunted chapel 
and looked around. “No sign of her yet. 
Perhaps Danny failed to give her my note. 
If she received it, she will surely come. I’ll 


120 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

wait;” and seating himself on the low wall, 
Neil looked upon the calm beautiful river 
below. 4 4 What a delightful night, and 
what a magnificent view from this lonely 
spot. I thought I heard strains of music as 
I came up the lane; perhaps it was some hon- 
est fellow in his boat regailing the woman 
whom he loves, with sweet melody upon his 
accordeon. Ah, my friend enjoy life while 
you may; your sweetheart to-night, with you 
by her side, drinks of the cup of happiness 
until she is intoxicated with bliss; to-morrow 
some event may occur, and she will wish that 
you were dead. We are but creatures of 
circumstances, and what cowards it oftimes 
makes of us. Here am I accused of theft, 
and yet no way to prove my innocence. All 
circumstances against me. A quarrel with 
my employer; discharged; the money in my 
keeping gone, yet I cannot account for its 
loss, but as I sit here, I believe that Maurice 
Ronyane can. I’ve dogged his footsteps, 
have been to every shop where he has paid 
money, but no trace of my only clew, the torn 
one pound note . ” The sound of approaching 
footsteps caused Neil to turn around just as 
Shamus Roe appeared upon the crag. 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 


121 


‘ ‘Why Shamus, what are you doing here, 
and at this hour?” asked the surprised Neil. 

‘ ‘Lookin’ for the thief who stole the money 
from my uncle’s mill,” replied Shamus. 

“And do you expect to find him here.” 

‘ ‘Maybe. ” 

“What?” said Neil approaching him, 
“here in the shadow of this old chapel. A 
strange place to look for a thief.” 

“I dunno,” said Shamus sternly. “The 
divil often loiters at the very dure of the 
chapel, so that people’ll take him for an 
angel.” 

“An angel, they would soon discover their 
mistake.” 

“Maybe not ’till ’twas too late, wid his 
smooth tongue an’ honeyed words he creeps 
into their hearts an’ homes, is trusted an’ 
beloved smiles in their faces like an angel, 
thin stabs thim in the back like a divil. ” 

“Why Shamus, you are moralizing to- 
night.” 

‘ ‘I have rayson, after what occurred last 
night.” 

“Did you have a falling out with Han- 
nora. ” 

“I gave Hannora no cause to fall out wid 


122 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


me,” replied Shamus, as he looked Neil 
straight in the face. ‘ ‘Can you say the same 
for Alice ? ” 

“Alice ! ” 

“Yes, she’s to meet ye here to-night.” 

‘ ‘How do you know ? ” 

“How do I now! Sure all Glanmire 
knows.” 

“Of my note to Alice Moyne ? ” 

“ Your note! Ah wisha if that was all,” 
sighed Shamus. 

“ All ! What more could there be ? ” asked 
Neil. 

“You mane what more should there be,” 
angrily replied Shamus. 

“Why did ye not show yer face last night 
like a man ? ” 

“Because I could not enter into the spirit 
of your enjoyment, Shamus. I was ashamed.” 

‘ ‘An honest man should never be ashamed. ” 

‘ ‘True, but I feel the disgrace and what 
proof could I bring of my innocence.” 

“None, but ye brought plenty proof of yre 
guilt.” 

‘ ‘Brought proof of my guilt! When, where ?” 
asked the amazed Neil. 

• ‘Last night, to Mrs. Grady’s barn. ” 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 


123 


“Mrs. Grady’s barn, last night ! Why I 
haven’t set foot within it for a month.” 

“Oh, will ye listen to him ! Will ye listen 
to him,” cried Shamus impatiently. 

“Shamus Koe, tell me what yon mean ? ” 

4 4 I mane, that ’tis a cowardly part in you 
to make that honest girl share in your dis- 
grace.” 

4 4 I know it, Shamus, I know she feels it as 
keenly as I do. Last night I passed many 
sleepless hours upon this crag, and were it 
not for her, I would have cast myself into 
the river below. ” 

44 ’Tis a pity ye didn’t,” said Shamus aside. 

“Ah, Shamus, Shamus, you’ve no idea of 
the feelings of a man who is branded as a 
thief. ” 

“No, thank God, I have’nt,” proudly re- 
plied Shamus. 

“Last night, here and alone, it drove me 
nearly wild. I knelt there by that wall and 
asked the Lord to give me strength to bear 
my burthen.” 

“He did’nt hear ye. So like a villain ye 
took it to her to bear for ye.” 

4 ‘Villain ! ” 

“Yis,” replied Shamus, “an’ if it was’nt 


124 


THE MILLER OP GLANMIRE. 


that, that poor girl that’s cornin’ up the lane 
is goin’ to ax ye yer cathecism, one, or 
both of ns, I’d be over that wall tryin’ who 
was the best swimmer in the river below. 
See here Nale Brandon, last night I defend- 
ed you in yer absence, now defend yerself 
in mine,” saying which Shamus disappeared 
behind the chapel. 

4 ‘Can I believe my senses, ” said Neil looking 
after Shamus Roe. “My best friend calls me 
a villain. Pshaw, he knows not what he is 
saying; love for Hannora McCabe has turned 
his brain. He may do himself some harm, 
I’ll after and ” 

“Neil ! ” The voice of Alice Moyne recall- 
ed him, as he started after Shamus. 

‘ ‘Alice ! ” Neil turned and rushed towards 
her, as if he would clasp her in his arms. 

She held him off and said in icy tones: “I 
am here as you desired. ” 

“You are here indeed,” said the astonish- 
ed Neil, “but not as I desired.” 

“No ! ” There was a gleam of hope in the 
heart of Alice Moyne, as she took Neil’s note 
from her bosom, ‘ ‘Then you did not desire 
my presence here, and this note is not yours ? ” 

Neil looked at the note which Alice held 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 


125 


toward him, and said : “That note is cer- 
tainly mine.” 

Alice slowly tore it into shreds and threw 
the pieces on the ground. Then with dignity 
asked : “Why have you requested me to meet 
you here ? ” 

“That we might converse without inter- 
ruption,” replied Neil. 

“Why did you not come to me at my cot- 
tage?” 

“Because I will not pollute the threshold 
of your home while a cloud remains upon my 
name. Oh, Alice ! it has made a coward of 
me.” 

“Guilt makes cowards of us all,” said Alice 
disdainfully. 

“ Guilt r 

“Yes, you would remove the cloud from 
your name by endeavoring to place the guilt 
on some one else.” 

‘ ‘How else can I remove the cloud from 
my name.” 

“True, true,” and the beautiful eyes of 
Alice Moyne suffused with tears. “Neil 
Brandon when but a little girl, I had a hero, 
a bright eyed, noble, loveing boy. I watch- 
ed him as he grew into manhood; still I had 


126 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


my hero. When my father and mother died, 
and I was left an orphan, I did not feel all 
alone in the world, for there was my hero, 
whom I loved with all my soul. My love 
made me- to enthusiast; I took up the brush 
of romance and painted him as coming to me 
some day, telling me he loved me, and ask- 
ing me to become his wife. I painted a 
pretty cottage, where beneath its thatched 
roof our loves would grow and bear their fruits 
of happiness, as the vines grew beside the door, 
and bore their fragrant flowers, but not like 
them, wither and decay. For years I painted 
with not a cloud upon the canvass. Last 
night I looked, and behold ! my labor of love 
was but a miserable daub. I tore it into 
fragments, as I did that piece of paper.” 

“But why, Alice, why ? ” 

Because I discovered my hero to be unworthy 
the love of any honorable woman.” 

“Alice Moyne,” said Neil. “If I was the 
hero of your painting, I am still worthy of 
your love.” 

“Neil, Neil ! it is best that all should end 
between us. Leave this place while yet you 
have a chance. ” 

1 ‘What, leave Glanmire ? ” 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 


127 


“’Tis best you should.” 

“I will not stir,” said Neil determinedly. 

“Then take the consequences.” 

“Of what? ” 

“Your crime !” 

“ My crime! Alice, Alice, you cannot believe 
me guilty of this. It was two days ago you 
said to me, ‘where there is love there is con- 
fidence.’ Who has killed that confidence in 
your breast; Maurice Ronyane was at the 
barn last night.” 

Hearing the angry voice of Neil, Shamus 
came cautiously from behind the chapel and 
listened. 

“Maurice Ronyane rvas at the barn last 
night,” replied Alice. 

“Ah, then, it was he who poisoned your 
mind against me. What did he say? I have 
the right to know. ” 

“And so you shall,” calmly replied Alice. 
“He called you a thief. 

“He lied, upon my soul he lied.” 

“Neil Brandon, for mercy sake do not add 
the crime of perjury to the other,” said Alice 
as she covered her face with her hands. 

“And you will take this man’s word as 
proof of my guilt ? ” 


128 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

‘No,” answered Alice, looking him in the 
face, “but on proof furnished by yourself, 
the money stolen from the mill . ” 

“Was it found? ’’asked Neil in astonish- 
ment. ‘ ‘Where ? ” 

“In the pocket of my cloak, placed there 
by you.” 

‘ ‘Alice Moyne, are you mad ? ” 

“God help me, cried Alice. “I believe I 
am since last night.” 

“ Placed there by me , did you say?” 

“Yes! Who else could select my cloak 
from among the others. You put it there with 
your note.” 

“On my honor, nof said Neil. “I was 
not near the barn last night. The note I 
gave to little Danny O’Keefe to give to you 
when alone.” 

There came a shout from Shamus Roe, 
which was answered by the fairy men (echoes) 
for a mile around, as he rushed between 
Alice and Neil, and exclaimed : “Nale, for- 
give me. ’Tis I’m the villain, not you at all. 
Oh, ’tis meself that’s the thief. Yis, indeed, 
the thief o’ the world, that did’nt think of 
it before. Didn’t I ketch him the very hour 
the robbery was dun, runnin’ away from the 


THE HAUNTED CHAPEL. 


129 


mill. I axed him where he was goin’, an’ 
he told me he was cornin’ up here to hear 
the beautiful music. An’ I suppose that 
minute he had the beautiful money in his 
pocket.” 

“Shamus, of whom are you speaking?” 
asked Alice. 

“Ah! that little Leprauchaun, Danny 
O’Keefe, an’ to think I didn’t think o’ him. 
Well, well, well ! ” and Shamus beat his fore- 
head with his fist. 

“Danny O’Keefe!” said Alice. “Poor 
child, I should never have suspected him. ” 

‘ ‘And yet you doubted me,” said Neil. ‘ ‘Ah, 
Alice ! Why did you not ask me when you 
came on the crag, if it was I who put the 
stolen money in your pocket.” 

“Bekase, she didn’t have a grain o’ sinse. 
No, I mane, the divil a grain o’ sinse did any- 
one have, to suspect you at-all-at-all. ” 

“Thank you, Shamus,” said Neil, as he 
grasped the hand of the vagabond. 

“Yer welcome, sur ; ” replied Shamus, “but 
will ye look how happy Miss Alice is. Be me 
conscience ’tis worth bein’ suspected, to see 
such a change in her face. But God bless 
her ! Sure she’s a change in human nature,” 


130 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“A change in human nature?” and Neil 
looked at him. 

“Yis, indeed. Isn’t she the first woman 
ye ever saw that was glad bekase the man 
she loves didn't put money in her pocket.” 
Alice and Neil laughed. “Now go down the 
lane together,” continued Shamus, “an’ take 
yer time goin’ home, they’ll be no one but the 
man in the moon to listen to what ye have to 
say, an’ he won’t tell. ” 

“Won’t you come, Shamus?” asked Alice. 

“No, dear ; I’d only spile the enjoyment of 
the first happy hour yev had for days. Lave 
yer trouble behind ye here upon the crag, I’ll 
keep it company, an’ maybe find the cause of 
it.” 

With his arm around the waist of the woman 
he loves, Neil said : “Alice I am sorry you 
destroyed that picture. ” 

‘ ‘Never mind, Neil, ” replied the happy girl. 
“I’ll pick up the fragments; put them to- 
gether, and resume my painting,” and in the 
stillness of the beautiful night, Alice and 
Neil walked slowly down the Lover’s Lane. 


CHAPTER IX. 

4 4 BLIND MAN’S BUFF. ” 

44 I wish Hannora’d suspect me of some- 
thin’, ” said Shamus, as he looked after them. 

4 ‘But I dunno, it might be dangerous, for I’m 
afeared I’d be found guilty of all charges 
agin me.” Seating himself on the wall Sha- 
mus filled his pipe and began to smoke. 4 4 ’Tis 
many a day since I was near the haunted 
chapel at night . ’Tis as quiet as a wake when 
the corpse is alone. Not a sign of life 
Aisy, yis ; there’s a boat wid two min 
in it, below in the river. ’Tis a fine 
night entirely for rowin’, glory be to God ! 
I dunno what Mrs. Grady’d say if she 
saw me up here, where she says the ghosts 
do play 4 hide-an’-go-seek ’ with each other. 
Well, no matter, I’ll jine them in their div- 


132 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


arshun to-niglit, for ghost or divil, I’ll not 
stir a step out o’ this, till I find Danny 
O’Keefe, if he’s hidin’ about here. Oh ! to 
think the little vagabone would do the like, 
an’ after doin’ it put the money in the pocket 
of Alice Moyne’s cloak. There’s some one 
behind him. I think I've druv the nail , but 
I must find that some one before I can clinch 
it. But I must find Danny. Where can he 
be hidin’ ? under the ivy maybe. Come out 
here to me Danny, I know where ye are. 
Come here to me before I go to you.” But 
no Danny appeared. “Is it inside the chapel 
he could be I dunno,” Shamus went to the 
window parted the ivy, and looked in. 4 4 ’Tis 
as black in there as a sweep’s face;” and leav- 
ing the window he felt of the ivy along the 
wall, but without finding Danny. ‘Til have 
another blast o’ the pipe,” and seating him- 
self on the wall, Shamus puffed away and 
soliloquized: 44 Maybe ’twas makin’ game o’ 
me he was whin he tould me he was cornin’ 
up here to hear the beautiful music. Arrah ! 
what music could he hear up here savin’ 
the whistlin’ of the wind among the trees, 
an’ thin ’twould have to be a stormy night. 
Danny, de ye hear me, don’t be vexin’ 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


133 


me hidin’ there. Come out an’ face me.” 
Yet with all his coaxing Danny would 
not materialize. “Aisy ? I think I have 
a way that’ll bring him to the fore if 
lie’s anywhere near. Nearly every mid- 
day below at the mill, Danny, and a few 
more childre of the neigborhood, will hardly 
lave me ate my dinner before they want 
me to play “Blind Man’s Buff ”wid ’em. I’ll 
play it wid Danny O’Keefe to-night, an’ 
maybe the sound of my voice will bring him 
to me side, or frighten away the ghosts. I’ll 
try anyway.” 

BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 

“With this folded handkerchief, Nora, my dear, 

You tightly my two eyes must bind; 

Then run, but I’ll find you out, never fear, 

For I love you, an’ love, dear, is blind. 

Yes he’s blind as a bat, but he’s cute for all that, 

And the vagabond knows well enough 
That the very first man, when the world began. 

With a woman played Blind Man’s Buff. 

Now steal away Nora, dear; I’ll catch you never fear, 
You may hide, but I know well enough, 

That you’d stay here all day, and not run away, 
While I played with you, Blind Man’s Buff. 

While singing the first verse Shamus 
thoroughly beat the ivy on the chapel and 
the wall with a stout stick he carried, but 


184 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


to no purpose. “ Tis no use,” said Shamus, 
“lie’s not here or he’d show himself. Well, 
I’ll wait ’till he comes for I’ll not go home 
’till I clinch the nail that I druv;” and again 
seating himself on the wall he almost un- 
consciously sang the second verse : 

“What a wonderful villain this Cupid must be, 

He’s such power over man, bird an’ baste, 

But ’tis mostly with women his arrows agree, 

When he shoots, they don’t mind it the laste; 

For they’re fond of the boy, he’s so jolly and coy, 

An’ he’s made of the right kind of stuff. 

To make them feel sad, or with love drive them mad, 
As they play with him, Blind Man’s Buff.” 

Now where are you Nora, dear, I hear you over there. 

You may laugh, but you know well enough, 

That I’d run twenty miles, lepping hedges and stiles, 
Just to play with you, Blind Man’s Buff.” 

As Shamus finished his song he looked 
towards the chapel and as he did so, his 
blood almost froze in his veins and his hair 
began to stand on end (for despite of his 
bravery he was very superstitious) . An ob j ect 
small and black was crawling on the ground 
in the shadow of the chapel and close to the 
ivy. Shamus would have taken to his heels, 
but as he tried to rise from the wall his legs 
refused to support him. 

“Who — what — tell me — what — who — are 


BLIND MAN'S BUFF. 


135 


— ye?” said Shamus almost in a whisper, 
and if the object didn’t speak, ready to 
throw himself over the wall. 

“I’m Danny,” said that little mite of 
humanity, as he raised from the ground and 
approached the frightened thief catcher. 

“Dan — Danny — musha bad luck to ye, ye 
nearly frightened the life out o’ me. Why 
didn’t ye walk like a Christian, an not crawl 
on the ground like a snail. ” 

“I was af eared ye’d stop singin’ if ye saw 
me.” 

4 4 ’Tis a wonder I didn’t stop brathin’ when 
I saw ye.” 

“Did ye come up on the crag, Shamus, to 
hear the beautiful music ? ” 

“I’m bothered intirely,” said Shamus, 
having recovered his wonted courage, seeing 
that it was Danny O’Keefe and not a ghost 
that stood before him. “Sure a thief in 
hidin’ i’d never bother his head about music 
and singin’,” 

4 4 Are you hungry, Shamus ? ” 

“Hungry, no ! I ate my supper.” 

“I had no supper to ate,” said the poor 
little fellow with a sigh. 

“What are ye doin’ up here upon the 


136 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

craig, Danny?” 

“Hidin’.” 

“Who are ye hidin’ from, Danny?” 

“Uncle Tobe.” 

‘ ‘Don’t he know yer here ? ” 

“No! If he did he’d ketch me. Yon 
won’t tell him, will ye, Shamus ? ” 

“Well, that depends upon what you tell 
me, Danny. Now tell the truth. Why did 
ye stale the money from the mill ? ” 

“I didn’t stale it, Shamus.” 

“Don’t be tellin’ me lies, Danny, or I’ll 
have ye under the switch o’ yer Uncle Tobe 
in a jiffy.” 

“I’m not tellin’ ye lies, Shamus. I didn’t 
stale the money from the mill. I only stole 
it from the pocket of Nale Brandon’s coat.” 

“From the pocket of Nale Brandon’s 
coat ? ” 

“Yes ! An’ thin I put it in the pocket of 
Alice Moyne’s cloak. That’s where the fun 
was.” And an apology for a laugh ac- 
companied Danny’s last words. 

‘ ‘The fun ? ” 

“Yes ! Did she get it, Shamus ? ” 

“Oh, indeed she did. I was there, an’ 
’twas very funny,” replied Shamus. 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


137 


“Oh ! I knew she’d laugh.” 

“Yes, ’twas such a good joke, Danny. It 
bothers me to know what yer drivin’ at, but 
tell me this: Why did ye take the money out 
o’ Nale’s pocket, an’ put it into hers? ” 

“So that it wouldn’t be found in Nale’s.” 

“Oh ! I see ; yis.” 

“An’ I knew she’d give it back to him.” 

“But tell me, Danny, who was to find it. 
Who put the money in Note's pocket ? ” 

“Oh, Shamus ! if I tell ye, I’ll be kilt.” 

“Well, if ye don’t tell me, ye’ll be hung. 
So ye can have your choice between killin’ 
an’ hangin’.” 

“Do they hang boys, for doin’ good, Sha- 
mus ?” 

“Yerra! in the name o’ the Lord, what 
good did you do that ye shouldn’t be hung ? ” 

“Didn’t I put the money in her cloak?” 

“Well, be my conscience, there was a power 
o’ good in that.” 

“I knew there would be, Shamus.” 

“Yis, indeed ; gettin’ the girl that was al- 
ways good to ye into trouble. ” 

“But didn”t I get Nale out o’ trouble ? 
Didn’t I sa,ve him from bein’ transported ? The 
night before the money was took I was sleep- 


138 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


in’ in the mill loft. When the bell rung for 
dinner next day, I peeped out to see if the 
coast was clear, so that I could run, whin I 
saw him cornin’ out o’ the mill wid his hand 
full o’ money. He said he bruk the drawer 
open to get it. He put the money in bale’s 
coat, that was on the schoolmaster’s cart, an’ 
said : ‘ Now, Nale Brandon, when that’s 

found, who’ll be the first to be druv out o’ 
Glanmire, you or me.’ But don’t tell him I 
tould you Shamus, or he’ll be the death 
o’ me.’ : 

“But ye haven’t tould me, Danny. Ye only 
clinched a nail that I druv awhile ago. 
Whist, aisy ! I hear footsteps in the lane.” 
Shamus left Danny and looked down the lane. 
Returning, he said : “ ’Tis Maurice Ronyane 
an’ yer Uncle Tobe.” 

“Oh, don’t let him bate me, Shamus, 
don’t ! ” cried Danny. 

“Believe me, my poor boy, he’ll never lay 
weight of his hand on ye again. Whisper, 
Danny, run around by the cottage an’ wait 
till they’re well up on the crag ; thin take to 
your heels an’ run as fast as yer legs’ll carry 
ye ; wait for me at the mill door ; ye’ll sleep 
in the loft to-night, an’ have plinty to ate ; I’ll 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


139 


liave use for ye to-morrow. Now away wid 
ye.” Without another word the poor, half- 
starved, frightened child, disappeared behind 
the chapel. 

“I must find out,” said Shamus, “while my 
hand is in, what brings these two honest min 
on the crag at this hour,” and the enemy of 
the two schemers, who were slowly coming 
up the lane, climbed into the branches of a 
large tree, from which “point of vantage,” 
with little fear of discovery, he could hear 
and see what occurred below. 

‘ ‘What is the matter with you ? ” asked 
Konyane of his henchman, as they arrived on 
the crag, and stood under the very tree on a 
limb of which Shamus was comfortably seat- 
ed. “I told you to keep quiet in the lane, 
yet you chattered like a magpie, and stag- 
gered like a drunken man. Is it from fear ? ” 

“No, ’tis from pain,” replied Tobe. “My 
hands are all blistered from rowin’ that ould 
boat down the river. What hindered us 
from cornin’ by the road ? ” 

“Fear of being seen,” answered Ronyane. 
“We are here now with no chance of that 
unless the ghost of Father Owen might spy 
us out.” 


140 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Don’t man, don’t ! ” almost screamed the 
cowardly keeper of the Sack O’ Flour. 
“Don't, for the love o’ heaven call up the 
dead. He might come an’ thin ” 

“Well, and what then,” asked Ronyane, 
laughing loudly. 

“He — he’d frighten us away from — from 
the wo — work we have to do,” replied the 
trembling wretch. 

Ronyane looked at him in disgust. 4 4 Why 
you tremble like an aspen leaf and the great 
beads stand upon your brow. What is the 
cause of this ? ” 

“Cause — no, no cause,” answered Tobe. 
“Only lave us get dun, an’ — an’ lave here.” 

4 ‘Well, then every nook ” Ronyane 

was interrupted by a scream from Tobe that 
awakened the echo’s near and far as Danny 
ran by him on his way down the lane. 

“Did — did ye see it, did ye — did ye see it ?” 
stammered Tobe as he clasped Maurice 
around the neck and nearly choked him. 

4 ‘See what ? ” asked Ronyane, as he pushed 
Tobe away from him. 

“I dunno, but it ran by me like a flash.” 

“What was it like ? ” 

“Like a ghost, a divil, ora leprauchaun. 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


141 


Come lave ns go.” 

“Not a step, yon craven honnd,” replied 
Ronyane, “until every nook and cranny of 
that old chapel is searched, and the book is 
fonnd.” 

“An’ if ’tis not fonnd, where’s the odds. 
Lave it alone; haven’t ye her anyway wid the 
proof that’s agin her.” 

“That may fail,” said Ronyane, “bnt no 
proof of her father and mother’s marriage 
will bring her with shame to the ground. In 
with yon and make a thorough search.” 

4 ‘Is it me go in there ? Not for my weight in 
goold,” and Tobe retreated out of reach of 
Ronyane’s stick. “Do you go in. I’ll stop 
here on the crag an’ watch.” 

“Yon superstitions scoundrel, I wish I’d 
left you where you left your courage — below 
in the Sack O’ Flour.” 

“I wish I’d brought some of it wid me in 
a bottle,” said Tobe. 

“Should anything human approach,” said 
Ronyane, as he removed his top coat; and 
thew it on the wall, “give me the alarm, but 
remember no more of your ghosts or leprau- 
chaunes ; ” and parting the ivy over the win- 
dow, the gentleman miller entered the haunted 


142 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


cliapel. 

“Bad luck to the lase o’ the Sack O’ Flour,” 
said Tobe, as Ronyane disappeared. “For a 
hundert years’ lase o’ my life, I would’nt 
come up here agin at night. My legs are so 
wake they’ll hardly hould me ; I’ll sit here 
upon the wall an’ rest ’till he comes I hope 
he’ll not be long.” Tobe seated himself on 
the wall and looked down upon the river, 
but his promised rest was of short duration. 
He had scarcely been seated a minute when 
strains of music came from the chapel. At 
it’s sound, the poor frightened creature 
clutched at the ivy on which he was sitting 
and held on with what strength there remained 
in his arms or he would have fallen over the 
wall. For a moment or two he tried to speak 
but no sound came from his lips. He sat 
there pale and motionless as if his body and 
tongue were paralyzed. After the music had 
ceased, by a mighty effort, he shook off the 
spell that was upon him, and muttered : 
“What, what was it all ; maybe ’twas him 
tryin’ to frighten me.” After several attempts 
he finally stood upon his feet, and said with 
an air of bravado, (which he did not feel) 
“I’ll not stay here to be made game of by 
























Oh,” cried the now thoroughly frightened wretch, falling on his knees, “may God 

help me this night!” — p. 143. 















BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


143 


him, or ghost or divil.” Tobe started for the 
Lover’s Lane intent on deserting his compan- 
ion, when a voice from the tree shouted : 
4 ‘Stop ! ” Tobe did so suddenly, and with as 
much precision as though he were a private 
in a company of infantry and the Captain 
had given the command “Halt.” 

4 ‘I’ll not, not sto — stop,” came from be- 
tween the trembling lips of Tobe. Although 
to save his life, he couldn’t advance a single 
step. “Wha — what’ll I sto- — stop for.” 

“Bekase I command ye,” said the voice. 

4 ‘Who, who are ye ? ” 

“The ghost of Father Owen,” came from 
the tree. 

4 ‘Oh ! ” cried the now thoroughly frighten- 
ed wretch falling on his knees, 4 ‘May God 
help me this night.” 

“He’ll not help ye in the business yer here 
for,” said the voice. 

“What brought ye on the crag at this 
hour ? ” 

“To get a book, yer riverence.” 

“What book?” 

“The marriage re — record, sur.” 

4 ‘For what did ye want it ? ” 

4 'To — to bur — burn it sur.” 


144 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


4 ‘Oh, ye villain, ae ye ever think o’ the 
burnin’ ye’ll get yerself.” 

‘ ‘I do sur, I do, but I’ll repint if ye’ll only 
lave me go.” 

“I’m not done wid ye yet,” said the voice. 

‘ ‘For what did ye want to burn it ? ” 

“So’s Alice Moyne couldn’t prove the mar- 
riage of her father and mother, sur.” 

“Tell me,” said the ghost, “did he that’s 
inside o’ the chapel put ye up to this ? Tell 
p me an’ I’ll forgive ye. ” 

“He did sur, but sure ’twould be axin’ too 
much for you to forgive me, after what I’ve 
dun to ye.” 

“I know that, ye vagabone, but wdiat did 
ye do to me ? ” 

‘ ‘All, sure, yer riverence knows well. ” 

“Oh, indeed I do,” said the ghost, “but as 
yer never told the truth below in Glanmire, 
lave me see if ye’ll tell it up here. What 
did ye do to me ? ” 

“I — I kilt ye, yer riverence.” 

‘ ‘Oh ! ” came from the tree, and if Shamus 
had not a firm hold of the limb, he’d been 
with it. Tobe’s confession came upon him 
so suddenly, for with all of the “smiler’s” 
faults Shamus never suspected him of mur- 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


145 


der. “Why did ye hill me , Tobey?” asked 
the ghost. 

“Bekase ye prached agin me,” answered 
Tobe. “An’ the bad drop was in me agin 
you” 

“Ah, the bad drop is always in ye. An’ 
’tis many’s the bad drop ye put in others 
below at the Sack O’ Flour.” 

“That’s it, that’s it,” said Tobe. “That’s 
the way ye always prached, an’ that’s what 
druv me wild the mornin’ before ye wor 
kil — before ye died ye came to me an’ 
tould me to sell no more licker to Larry 
Hoolihan, or if I did ye’d read my name out 
nixt day at the railin’ before the altar, an’ 
put the ban o’ the church upon any o’ the 
congregation that intered the Sack O’ Flour. 
I knew if ye did that my business i’d be kilt, 
and so ” 

“Ye kilt me, ye murtherin’ villain?” 

“Don’t I confess it,” groaned the murderer. 
“At the break o’ day Sunday mornin’ I came 
up here to the chapel. ’Twas an hour or so 
before fust mass; the windy was open; I looked 
in, an’ there ye were upon yer knees. I 
crawled through the windy, crep up behind 
ye, an’ druv the knife into yer side.” 


146 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

“For which act,” said the ghost, “the 
devil ’ll drive his fork into yon.” 

“Ye found me upon my knees, prayin’. 
Yet that didn’t stop yer hand ? ” 

“Why would it? Wasn’t you goin’ to 
prache agin me ? ” 

“Ah, ye inhuman monster,” and for a 
ghost there was a volume of strength in the 
voice. ‘ ‘But my memory is not good since 
ye prodded me wid the knife. What did ye 
do thin ? ” 

“Kep away from ye, for ye war roarin’ 
like a bull, an’ tryin’ to ketch hould o’ me 
till ye fell. Thin I heard a voice outside 
say : ‘ ‘ Wliat ails ye, Owen ? ” So I made 

my way through the windy an’ wint down 
the lane.” 

“An’ its down the lane yer been goin’ 
ever since. But the knife that ye kilt me 
wid, did ye throw it away ? ” 

“Is it to have some one find it an’ 
put it in ivedence agin me. I’m not such a 
fool. No, yer riverence, I kep it. I have it 
below in the Sack O’ Flour. ’Tis the one I 
cuts the bread an’ mate wid for the cus- 
tomers. ” 

There was a commotion aftiong the branches 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF. 


147 


of the trees, which was caused by Shamus 
falling from the limb on which he was com- 
fortably seated to a fork below, where he 
held on with all his strength (which wasn’t 
much) for the latter part of Tobe’s confession 
had made him faint and sick. For a moment 
or two in his new position, Shamus was 
silent, as his sudden and quick descent had 
bruised him considerably. 

“Are ye gone, yer riverence ? ” asked Tobe, 
noting the silence. 

“No !” answered the ghost. Then in a 
lower voice to himself : 4 ‘But ’tis a wonder 

I ain’t. ’Tis a miracle that I’m not poisoned 
intirely, for ’tis many’s the piece of bread 
an’ mate cut by that same hnife I’ve ate in the 
last two years.” 

“Spake louder yer riverence,” said Tobe 
trying to catch the mutterings of the ghost, 
“I didn’t hear ye.” 

“Didn’t ye,” replied the ghost; “Weill 
heard you, an’ I heard enough from ye, ye 
blood-stained vampire. Away wid ye before 
I jump down upon the top o’ ye.” 

‘ ‘I’m goin’ sur, but now that I’ve confessed 
ye’ll lave me alone, won’t ye. I’ll repint yer 
riverence, I’ll repint, an’ whin we meet in 


148 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


the nixt world ” 

“Out upon ye, ye highbinder,” interrupted 
the ghost; “repint or no repint,” never drame 
that we'll meet in the nixt world. My voice’11 
be heard singin’ among the angels, while 
you’ll be heard cursin’ and swearin’ among 
the divils. Away wid ye out o’ sight.” 

Tobe raised from his kneeling position and 
with tottering gait, walked slowly down the 
lane. As he placed distance between himself 
and the ghost, he accelerated his steps, until 
finally he began to run, at which pace he 
arrived at the Sack O’ Flour, where for the 
present we will leave him with his bottle 
and his thoughts. When Shamus could no 
longer see the self-confessed murderer, lie de- 
scended from the tree. 4 ‘Well, ” said he, as he 
stood on terra firma, “I think I played Blind 
Man’s Buff to some purpose to-night. I have 
Tobe O’Keefe on the hip clane an’ nate. My, 
my, the murtherin villain, an’ to think no 
one suspected him; bad luck to me for an 
aisy goin’ fool. When every one in the 
neighborhood put the hard word agin him, 
although I said nothin’ there was pity in my 
heart for him, ah’ at the same time I was 
payin’ for, an’ aitin’ bread an’ mate cut be the 


BLIND MAN'S BUFF. 149 

knife that kilt poor Father Owen. ’Tis 
enough to turn me agin bread an’ mate for 
the rest o’ my life. I dunno was it Ronyane 
playin’ upon the ould organ. I nearly fell 
out o’ the tree whin I heard it. Maybe there’s 
some truth in the story that Danny tells me 
about the beautiful music. I’m bothered, 
’twasn’t to play upon the organ that brought 
Maurice Ronyane here, but to stale the book 
with the names of Alice Moyne’s father an’ 
mother inside of it. Well, Mr. Ronyane ye’ll 
not take that book off the crag to-night, un- 
less yer a better man than I am; I’ll wait till 
he comes out, ” and Shamus sat upon the wall 
in the shadow of the chapel, where he could 
command a good view of the window through 
which Maurice Ronyane entered. 


CHAPTER X. 


WITHIN THE CHAPEL. 

While Tobe O’Keefe was confessing tlie 
murder of Father Owen to Shamus Roe, there 
was also a scene being enacted within the 
chapel. Scarcely had Ronyane entered 
through the window, when he heard the 
music that frightened Tobe. It was so dark 
within the chapel that he could not see his 
hand before him, but not being of the super- 
stitious class, he called out ‘ ‘Who’s there ? ” 
Receiving no .answer, and having visions of 
people being stabbed in the dark, he was 
about to retreat, when the descending moon 
cast a ray of its soft light through the win- 
dow above his head. He looked in the 
direction from whence the music came, and 
there he saw seated at the organ, her back 


WITHIN THE CHAPEL. 


151 


towards him, the sister of the murdered priest, 
Abby Creigh; she was playing some beautiful 
plaintive melody. 

Ah, surely such a scene, at such a time, 
and in such a place, should have caused 
Maurice Ronyane to have fallen on his knees 
to ask God to help him to Renounce his evil 
ways and pray to Him for his forgiveness. 
But, no ! Sight of poor demented Abby 
Creigh, sound of holy music, or fear of the 
Almighty’s wrath had no effect upon the 
sacrilegious scoundrel. 

“Abby Creigh,” said Ronyane in surprise, 
as his eyes fell upon her. “I thought she 
was caged. Could some one have sent her 
here to thwart me ? If I thought so I’d 
strangle her. Pshaw, she’s crazy. Knows 
not what she’s doing. Yet the cunning of 
madness may outwit me. I must conciliate 
her, and she may aid me in m^y search.” 
Abby still played unconscious of the presence 
of any one (save her dead) until Ronyane 
approached, tapped her on the shoulder 
and called her name. At the sound of his 
voice she stopped playing, raised quietly 
from her seat at the organ and faced him. 

4 ‘Why are you here ? ” she asked. ‘ ‘Is it 


152 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE, 

to take me back agin. I will not go ! ” Then 
in a pleading voice : “Don’t take me back, 
leave me here witli my dead, where all is 
peace. There — there is no peace. They 
tie my hands and beat me. Don't take me 
back!" 

“No, Abby, you shall not go back,” re- 
plied the robber. “Besides I did not come 
to take you. I came to see the ruin by 
moonlight. ” 

“The ruin and the ruined,” sobbed the 
poor soul. “Did you not also come to see 
me ? ” 

“I must confess, Abby, I did not expect 
to find you here,” answered Ronyane. 

4 4 Wliy not ? this is my home. Where else 
should I be but at home ? People say that I 
am mad. No, it is not madness ; it is grief — 
grief for him whose almost forgotten grave 
is covered by the rank weeds in yonder 
churchyard. ” 

“No, not forgotten, Abby.” 

“Yes, forgotten by all save me. I heard 
him sing to night and I listened in the dark- 
ness there by the window with bated breath 
lest I should lose a sound. Did you not hear 
him ? ” 


WITHIN THE CHAPEL. 


153 


“Often,” replied Ronyahe. “Why, it was 
in this very chapel my father and mother 
were wed; at least, so I’ve been told, but I 
would have further proof than mere hear- 
say. ” 

‘ ‘Proof ! Who told you they were married 
here?” 

“My mother.” 

“And you would have further proof? 
Merciful God!” exclaimed Abby, “is it any 
wonder that I am mad when nature is so 
changed that we doubt the mother who gave 
us birth? Proof ! What further proof can 
you have ?” 

4 'Their signatures, my father’s and mother’s 
upon the page in the marriage record; it is 
here is it not ?” 

“Yes, but you shall not see it,” replied 
Abby. 

‘ T swear I will, ” said Ronyane, approach- 
ing her in a threatening manner. 

“Stand back!” cried Abby, as she folded 
her arms upon her breast and looked him in 
the face, ‘ 'did you come with blood upon your 
hands? Would you desecrate God’s holy 
temple ? If I refuse, would you murder me 
as he was murdered there; there upon the 


154 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


very spot on which you stand. ” 

‘ would have that booh at any price, ” said 
Ronyane, as he advanced a step or two to- 
wards Abby. 

“At any price save the price that he paid, 
you shall have the book; there shall be no 
more murders beneath this roof. You shall 
have the book, but you will give it back to 
me? ” 

“Yes, but give it to me at once,” impatient- 
ly replied Ronyane. 

Abby raised a slab of slate in front of the 
altar, and took out from the opening a med- 
ium-sized well-worn book. “There,” said she, 
as she handed the book to Ronyane, “there 
is the book you seek; you will find the proof 
you asked for therein,” and again seating 
herself at the organ she began to play, as 
Ronyane made his exit through the window, 
laughing at his success in obtaining the mar- 
riage record so easily. As his feet touched 
the ground outside he called for Tobe. Re- 
ceiving no answer, he shouted loudly, 4 ‘Tobe. ” 
His reply came from the echoes, “Tobe ! 
Tobe! Tobe!” “The cowardly dog has 
deserted me. Well no matter, I’ve got what 
I came for — the book. Now Alice Moyne,” 


WITHIN THE CHAPEL. 


155 


said the elated robber, ‘ ‘with this consigned 
to the flames who can prove the marriage of 
your father and mother ? ” 

“Meself an’ the book,” said Shamus as he 
advanced and snatched the record from Ro- 
ily ane. 

“Shamus Roe,” shouted the baffled thief , 
“What are you doing on the crag ? ” 

‘ ‘Huntin’ black-birds, ” replied Shamus, ‘ ‘an’ 
I’ve caged a couple. ” 

‘ ‘Then one of them will fight for his free- 
dom,” said Ronyane, as he rushed upon 
Shamus. 

“In that case,” said Tobe O’ Keefe’s ghost, 
I’ll have to clip his wings, ” and shooting out 
his right arm, it came in contact with Rony- 
ane’s chin, and sent him sprawling and sense- 
less beneath the window of the haunted 
chapel, leaving him lay there. Shamus with 
his prize walked gaily down the lane, singing 
“Blind Man’s Buff.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 

The morning after the events narrated in 
the last chapter Tobe O’Keefe was astir bright 
and early. Indeed, it is doubtful whether 
he had been in bed at all since he left the 
crag. He looked tired; the color had for- 
saken his face and left it pale as that of the 
proverbial ghost. He was seated at the cus- 
tomers’ table in front of the Sack O’ Flour, 
paying strict attention to the contents of a 
black bottle. 

“D — n the marriage record an’ him that 
took me to hunt for it, ” said he, as he swal- 
lowed a glassful of the “ardent.” I dunno 
did Ronyane hear me talkin’ to the ghost. 
If he did ’tis all up wid me, not that I think 
he’d say a word about it, but he’d hould it 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


157 


over my Read an’, day or night, make me do 
his biddin’. ’Tis a wonder Father Owen said 
nothin’ about the ring I took from his finger 
whin he fell. I have it wid me ever since.” 

Tobe took from the inside pocket of his 
waistcoat a small package; it was the seal 
ring of the murdered priest securely wrapped 
in tissue paper. Untying the package and 
opening it, he gazed without a tremor at the 
positive proof of his damnable crime. 

‘ ‘This would hang me if ’twas found upon 
me,” said he, as he returned it to its hiding- 
place. “ ’Tis worth a pound or so, anyway, 
an’ the nixt time I go to Cork I’ll get rid of 
it.” 

“What will you get rid of ?” asked a voice 
at his elbow. 

Tobe jumped in the air as though he’d 
been shot. 

“What — who — what did ye see ? ” 

“When,” asked Ronyane, for it was he 
who came so suddenly upon Tobe. 

4 ‘Now — awhile ago. What did ye see ? ” 

“I saw you jump as if the ghost had hold 
of you.” 

“Go-ghost, there no such thing as a go- 
ghost. Did ye ever hear one spake ? ” 


158 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

“Certainly not. But what are you going 
to get rid of ? ” 

“The Sack O’ Flour,” replied Tobe. “I’m 
goin’ to give it np. ” 

“Going to give it up!” and Ronyane 
laughed. “You’ll be compelled to give it 
up ! ” 

4 4 Who’ll make me if I don’t want to ? ” 

“Its owner, Alice Moyne.” 

4 'Didn’t ye find the book? ” 

“Yes!” 

4 4 An’ did ye burn it ? ” 

“No!” 

4 ‘Why not ? ” 

“Because it did not remain in my posses- 
sion long enough.” 

4 ‘What de ye mane ? ” 

“I mean that you are a coward and ran 
away. Had you remained, the marriage 
record would not now be in existence, as 
you could have given me warning of the 
presence of that eavesdropping scoundrel.” 

4 ‘WTlo de ye mane ? ” 

“Shamus Roe.” 

“Was he upon the crag last night? ” 

“Yes, and perhaps heard every word of 
our conversation. ” 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


159 


‘ ‘I’m undone,” said Tobe, as he filled a 
glass with courage and dashed it off at a gulp. 

“We’re both undone, and all your fault. 
Had you remained at your post, Sliamus Roe 
would have had two of us do deal with in- 
stead of one, but now he’s got the book and 
can laugh at us.” 

“Was it him that took it from ye ? ” 

“Yes, d — n him, and knocked me down 
into the bargain, but I’ll be even with him, ” 
hissed Ronyane with an oath. 

“Do, do,” eagerly said Tobe; “have him 
took up for strikin’ ye.” 

“Don’t be a greater fool than you are; I’ll 
be lucky if he doesn’t have me ‘took up’ for 
robbing the chapel,” replied Ronyane, “but 
I can swear that Abby Creigh gave me the 
book.” 

“Was she there? ” 

“Yes, I was rather surprised on entering 
the chapel to see her playing on the organ. ” 

‘ ‘Then it wasn’t the ghost that was playin’. ” 

“What ghost?” asked Ronyane. 

“The — no matter,” answered Tobe, and 
again he had recourse to the bottle. 

“True, ghost or devil, it doesn’t matter 
much now,” said Ronyane bitterly; “Twice 


160 THE MILLER OP GLANMIRE. 

we’ve been beaten at our own game, that 
devil Shamus Roe defeated me, and the ghost 
of Father Owen frightened you.” 

“How de ye know that,” asked Tobe; a 
look of terror in his face, ‘ ‘ did ye know that 
he was there t ” 

“You superstitious dog, leave you alone, 
and that weak brain of yours would conjure 
up a thousand ghosts. I know I left you on 
the crag, and I know that you deserted me. I 
also know that I have lost the mill, and that 
you have lost the Sack O’ Flour ; the book 
taken from me by Shamus Roe will prove 
Alice Moyne’s right to the possession of both 
of themt” 

“Can’t we frighten her into givin’ us the 
lases ? ” 

“Frighten her, how ? ” asked Ronyane. 

“The stolen money found in her pocket. 
Tell her that I’ll swear that I saw her 
take it.” 

“That wouldn’t frighten her a particle?” 

‘ ‘Why not ? ” 

“Because she’d know full well that no jury 
would convict her on the evidence of such a 
scoundrel as you are,” replied Ronyane. 

‘ ‘Scoundrel, is it ! ” retorted Tobe, angrily. 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


161 


“Well, Mr. Ronyane, when the devil was 
huntin’ hinchmen, believe me, he didn’t pass 
you by unnoticed.” 

“No,” laughed Ronyane. “One or two 
actions in my past life evidently called that 
gentleman’s attention to me. But then I 
don’t pose as an angel.” 

“Small blame to ye,” replied Tobe. “Ye 
know well enough that the golden slipper 
was never made to lit the cloven foot.” 

1 ‘Enough of d — n nonsense, ” said Ronyane, 
impatiently. “The only way to make Alice 
Moyne bow her head is through Neil Bran- 
don. If we could only get little Danny to 
swear that he saw Brandon rob the mill and 
put the money in his pocket ; then afraid of 
its being found there, bribed him ( Danny ) 
to take the money to Alice Moyne for safe 
keeping, you see the boy’s story would 
carry some weight.” 

“Oh, it would, it would,” cried Tobe; “now 
we have them safe an’ sound. 

‘ ‘Do you think the boy will do it ?” asked 
Ronyane. 

“Av coorse he will; why wouldn’t he?” re- 
plied the loving uncle. Don’t I keep the 
hunger from his stomach an’ the could from 


162 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 
his back ? ” 

“Well, yes, O’Keefe, you keep his back 
warm enough with the rod, whatever you 
do with his stomach, poor lad. ” 

I’ll make his back warmer whin I find him, ” 
and Tobe shook his fist at an imaginary 
Danny, an’ if he don’t come to the fore an’ 
swear as I desire, I’ll flay him alive.” 

“If I may judge from what I’ve seen of 
that boy, he won’t submit to many more of 
your Hayings. A little kindness would be 
more to the point. ” 

‘ ‘Bah, show kindness to a dog an’ he’ll turn 
an’ bite ye; bate him well an’ he’ll do yer 
biddin,” said Tobe as he held up the bottle. 

4 ‘Come, lave us go inside an’ drink to our new 
schame. This bottle’s impty; ’tis marvelous 
how much a man can drink whin he’s in 
trouble. I imptied that bottle be meself . ” 

4 ‘I thought you had the ghost of Father 
Owen with you, ” laughed Ronyane, as he en- 
tered the Sack O’ Flour. 

4 ‘For the love o’ heaven, lave him rest,” 
said Tobe as he followed. 

Ronyane and Tobe had been about an hour 
drinking to their “new schame” when the 
men arrived at the mill. The bell announced 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


163 


the hour of seven, the wheel commenced to 
revolve, and the day’s toil of the honest mill- 
er began. Fearful that when Ronyane 
recovered consciousness, he would proceed to 
find Sliamus, and endeavour to regain posess- 
ion of the book, that night prowling vaga- 
bond at dawn of day knocked at the door of 
Alice Moyne’s room, and after recounting to 
her how it came into his hands, gave it to 
her. After heartily thanking him, Sliamus 
withdrew to the kitchen to have a drag o’ the 
pipe, and think over the events of the night 
(for sleep he could not), while Alice, seated 
on the edge of her dainty bed, closely held 
her treasure to her heart. A smile of triumph 
lighted up her beautiful face, for now she 
could vindicate her honored parents, and prove 
to Maurice Ronyane that she was not the 
child of shame. But the smile turned to a 
look of despair; as after search and re-search, 
she failed to find in the Marriage Record the 
names of her father and mother. Summoning 
Shamus, she told him of her discovery, and 
dispatched him in all haste for Tyler McCabe, 
the schoolmaster. In due time that worthy 
man, accompanied by Hannora, Shamus and 
“Nancy,” arrived at the mill, where they 


164 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


were met by Jerry Roe and Alice Moyne. 

“Is it true,” asked the schoolmaster, as he 
descended from the cart, “Is it true what 
Shamus tould me ? ” 

“If he told you,” replied Alice, “that the 
names of my father and mother are not regis- 
tered in the Marriage Record of Saint Mary’s, 
then he told you truly.” 

Dear, dear ! ” exclaimed Tyler, * ‘liow can 
that be, are the laves paged Alice ? ” 

“No,” replied Alice, “the leaves are not 
paged.” 

“Then,” said Tyler. “Maybe that divil’s 
bird Ronyane cut the lafe out. Ye see, not 
bein’ paged, ye couldn’t tell where it was 
cut from.” 

“No,” said Shamus. “He cut no lafe out 
o’ the book. I had my eye upon him. The 
book was in my hand one minute after it left 
Abby Creigh’s. 

“Was she there ? An’ did she give it to 
him ? ” asked the schoolmaster in surprise. 

“She was there, an’ she gave it to him, ” 
replied Shamus. 

“I’m bothered,” and Tyler scratched his 
head. ‘ ‘I’m bothered to know why she gave 
him the book. ” 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


165 


“To save lier life,” answered Shamus.- 

“Did he threaten to kill her?” asked 
Jerry Roe. 

“Indeed he did,” replied Shamus. 

“An’ you heard him ? ” 

“I did.” 

“Then why didn’t ye go in an’ knock him 
down ? ” 

“Well, as I didn’t see him lay his hand 
upon her, I waited till he kem out to do 
that.” 

4 4 An’ did ye, whin he kem out ? ” 

“Well, I left him lyin’ above upon the 
crag anyway.” 

“Yer a good lad,” said Jerry. “Now go 
to yer work, the wheels has just began to 
go round, an’ if ye don’t go soon ye’ll lose 
a half a day’s pay.” 

“Ye might as well make it a whole day’s 
pay, Uncle Jerry, for divil a tap o’ work will 
I do in the mill to-day. I’ve other things to 
look after.” 

“What other things? ” asked the miller. 

“Ketchin’ some chickens that’s come home 
to roost,” replied Shamus. 

“So it seems,” said Tyler McCabe, “that 
Maurice Ronyane had murder as well as rob- 


166 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


bery in bis heart whin he wint in the chapel 
last night. ” 

“No,” said Alice Moyne, “I believe my lov- 
ing cousin’s visit to the chapel last night was 
to prove the truth of an assertion he made to 
me “Snap- Apple Night” at Mrs. Grady’s.” 

4 ‘I wouldn’t believe him on a stack o’ 
bibles,” exclaimed Shamus. 

“What did he assert?” asked the school- 
master. 

4 ‘ That I was a child of shame . ” 

4 4 Oh no, no, not that, Alice, acushla, ” said 
Hannora as she drew the weeping girl’s head 
upon her bosom. 

4 4 He lied, ” cried Jerry Roe excitedly. 4 4 God 
knows he lied. ” 

“Aisy, Jerry, aisy, ; sure we all know that,” 
said Tyler, trying to soothe the miller. 

4 4 He never was a child of shame or a man 
of shame either,” said Shamus (Shamus was 
a little at sea as to what was meant by a 
4 4 cliild of shame”), “he never had a grain of 
shame in him, bad luck to him.” 

4 4 Houl’ yer tongue, ye ignorant omadhaun, ” 
said Jerry, “an’ go hunt for yer chickens.” 

“O, I’ll find thim whin I want thim, niver 
fear,” replied Shamus. 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


167 


“There dear, don’t cry any more, don’t; 
sure ye may have looked through the book 
too fast an’ missed the names. You an’ me’ll 
go through, lafe after lafe, quiet an’ aisy, an’ 
take my word for it, we’ll find thim.” Poor 
Hannora was endeavoring to awaken a gleam 
of hope within the heart of the unhappy girl, 
but in vain. 

“I know Hannora, darling, you mean well, 
but the plain facts stare me in the face. The 
names are not there. Maurice Konyane knew 
that he spoke the truth when he gave me two 
days to prove the contrary; he also knew 
that, having the most implicit faith in the 
honesty of my parents, I would make no ef- 
fort to produce the record of their marriage; 
so, to convince me and bring matters to a 
climax between us, I sincerely believe his 
only object in visiting the chapel last night 
was to obtain possession of the book, place it 
in my hands and thereby prove the truth of 
his assertion. As to his committing murder, 
no , bad as he is, I don’t believe he would de- 
scend to that. ” 

Thus did Alice Moyne defend the man who 
for days had been using every rascally means 
to blast her honest name. A defence which 


168 THE MILLER OP GLANMIRE. 

Maurice Ronyane would take advantage of 
later on, for within the Sack O’ Flour over 
his jug of punch he had listened to every 
word uttered by those outside. 

“Alice, ye make me mad,” said the school- 
master, “ye defind a blackguard whose only 
aim is to get possession of your property and 
who would resort to any manes to attain that 
end, even by casting a slur upon the honored 
dead. And is it the word of a villain like this 
that would make you doubt the honesty of 
your father and mother? Believe me, my 
child, their names are registered there , in a 
book that Maurice Ronyane’ll never get close 
enough to stale.” 

“Schoolmaster,” replied Alice, “do not 
think so meanly of me as to imagine for one 
moment that I have ever doubted the honesty 
of my beloved parents. An angel from 
heaven could not make me believe they were 
not wed in the little chapel on the crag, but 
Maurice Ronyane will take advantage of the 
absence of their names from the Marriage Re- 
cord of Saint Mary’s and proclaim to the 
world that I am without a name. ” 

“Thin I’ll tell the world he’s a d — n liar,” 
said Sliamus. “For I was there whin you 


THE MARRIAGE RECORD. 


169 


wor christened, Alice Johanna ! ” 

“Tis a pity you wor ever christened, ye 
chatterin’ jack-daw ! ” exclaimed Jerry. “Or 
born either ! ” 

“Ah, Uncle Jerry, what would Hannora 
do if that ivint hadn’t took place ? ” 

“I know what I’ll do in an ivint that’ll 
take place soon. I’ll box your ears ! ” And 
Hannora looked at Shamus as though she 
meant it. “Keep yer jests an’ gibes for 
some other time, don’t ye see the trouble 
we’re in now ? ” 

“Yes, an’ bad luck to me, I’m the cause of 
it all. I wish ’twas Ronyane brought the 
book in place o’ me.” 

“Yer not to blame, my lad,” said Tyler. 
“Ye did what was right. But come, lave me 
take a run through the book, an’ see what I 
can make out of it.” 

The two girls led the way to the cottage, 
followed by the schoolmaster and Jerry Roe. 

“Maybe,” said Shamus, who remained 
standing near the mill door as the others 
departed, “maybe ’twould be a good thing 
if I wasn’t born, since I wasn’t born to 
good luck, like Paudeen O’Rafferty. I try 
to do right, but I’m always doin’ wrong. If 


170 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


I hadn’t brought her the book she’d never 
know what’s in the inside of it, for she’d 
never see hide or hair of it from Ronyane. 
If I hadn’t took the pledge, I’m afeared ’tis 
drinkin’ I’d be to-day. But no, the sales are 
yet fresh upon my lips an’ I won’t break 
them,” and Shamus sauntered towards the 
cottage to join the others in their search 
through the marriage record. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 

As Shamus Roe entered the cottage, Ron- 
yane and Tobe, who had been watching 
him, came from the Sack O’ Flour, their 
gross faces illuminated with joy, and their 
weak brains muddled with whisky. 

“Have another taste,” said Tobe, his right 
hand firmly clasping the neck of the bottle. 

“Ho,” replied Ronyane, “I must keep a 
clear head for what’s before me. ” 

4 4 Ah, man alive, sure what’s before ye is as 
straight as a string. Yer the master here, 
an’ can do what ye plaze. What’s before ye 
is to drive thim out, every one o’ thim; drive 
thim out like ye’d drive pigs out o’ a sty.” 

“Have no fear O’Keefe, sight of Alice 
Moyne and her friends will not offend your 


172 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


eyes much longer; they shall go, one and all 
of them; but this driving out, as you call it. 
cannot be done in a day.” 

“A day ! ” shouted Tobe, “I wouldn’t wait 

an hour, a minute; I’d drive ” 

“The law my dear fellow,” interrupted 
Ronyane. “The law must take its course, I 
must first prove that Alice Moyne is not the 
heiress. ” 

‘ ‘Don’t the book prove that, didn’t ye hear 
thim say that her father an’ mother’s names 
wasn’t in it; sure that’s law enough; get the 
book, they can’t deny ye that. We’ll take it 
below to Cork, an’ show it to Dan Mooney, 
the Iyer. He’ll say ’tis all right; thin we’ll 
get Mick Carmody, the constable, he’s the 
boy for ye. We’ll tell him what to do an’ 
there won’t be one o’ thim left in the neigh- 
borhood be supper time. ” 

“Put that bottle away, you’re drunk.” 
“Yis, I am, drunk wid joy. Oh, this is the 
greatest day o’ my life. I can now show 
Nale Brandon what drivin’ out manes, an’ 
taclie Shamus Roe to be mannerly to his 
betters. Aha, ’tis my turn now; not one o’ 
thim that’s been agin me will I lave darken 
the dure of the Sack O’ Flour.” 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


173 


Maurice Ronyane laughed, “How do you 
know the Sack O’ Flour will be yours ? ” 

“How do I know it, ah, Mr. Ronyane,” 
cried the cringing creature; “Ye wouldn’t 
take it away from me now, would ye sur, 
after all I’ve dun for ye ? ” 

‘ ‘That depends on how you get Danny to 
swear against Neil Brandon.” 

“Danny’ll transport him an’ her too.” 

“Never mind her, let us only get him dis- 
graced and out of the way, and we’ll have 
her safe enough, but first — ” and Ronyane 
whispered in Tobe’s ear, “We must find that 
missing leaf.” 

‘ ‘What missin’ laf e ? ” 

“The missing leaf from the Marriage Rec- 
ord.” 

“How de ye know there’s one missin’ ? ” 

“I’m sure of it, as I am that we stand here; 
how could her father and mother’s name dis- 
appear from the book if some one had not 
tampered with it f ” 

“Ye mane if some one hadn’t tore out the 
lafe wid their names upon it.” 

“Precisely.” 

“Now’s my chance,” said Tobe aside, as he 
took another swig from the bottle. After a 


174 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

good half pint of the contents had rippled 
down his throat, he turned to Ronyane, “An’ 
so ye’d like to find that missin’ lafe ? ” 

“We have no assurance of success,” replied 
Ronyane, ‘ ‘while it is in the hands of others. 
It was evidently taken from the book (as was 
the money taken from the coat) to thwart us, 
and like the money, may turn up at any 
moment. ” 

“No fear of it turnin’ up,” said Tobe with 
a knowing wink. 

“Why not? ” asked Ronyane. 

“Bekase ’tis burned, but I hope ’tis no 
wrong I dun Mr. Ronyane,” whined Tobe, as 
he looked askance at his chief. 

“What have you done? ’’asked the aston- 
ished co-conspirator. 

“Well, sur,” replied this modern ‘Ananias’, 
“The night of the goins on below at Mrs. 
Grady’s, after I was knocked down an’ walked 
upon be Shamus Roe, I was wild for rivinge, 
so say’s I to meself, I’ll take it out upon 
Danny for bringin’ the money to Alice Moyne 
in place of lavin’ it where I put it — in Nale 
Brandon’s coat. Well, sur, I waited an’ 
waited for him to come, till I got tired, then 
wid a stout stick in me hand, I started out to 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


175 


find him. Divil a know did I know where I 
was goin’ till I found meself upon the crag, 
near the haunted chapel. Seein’ where I 
was, all thoughts o’ Danny wint out o’ me 
head, an’ I remimbered you an’ the book. 
‘ What’s to stop me now ’ says I, 4 of gettin ’ 
the book, as there’s no one about to see me ? ’ 
No sooner said than dun, so in I goes through 
the windy. After sarchin’ a bit, I finds it. 
What’s the use o’ me luggin’ this big book 
wid me says I, ’tis only the lafe wid her 
father an’ mother’s name upon it that he 
wants, so I outs wid me knife, an’ nate an’ 
complate, I cuts the lafe out. ” 

4 4 Where did you find the book ? ” asked 
Ronyane, looking at him suspiciously. 

44 Is it whin I wint inside the chapel ? ” 

“Of course you couldn’t find it outside. 
Where did you find the book ? ” 

There was a nervous twitching of Tobe’s 
lips as he answered : 

“On a little shelf behind the altar.” 

“Tobe O’Keefe,” said Ronyane, sternly. 
“You are lying to me! Abby Creigh took 
the book from beneath a stone slab in front 
of the altar.” 

4 4 Of course she did ! ” Tobe had some- 


176 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

what recovered his composure. 4 ‘Where 
else’d she take it from ? For wasn’t it there 
I put it after I cut out the lafe ? ” 

4 ‘Why did you put it there ? ” 

‘ -So’s no one else’d find it as aisy as I did, ” 
replied Tobe. 

“After the leaf was gone was the very 
time I would have had it found.” 

“Of course, I knew that. But ye wouldn’t 
have it found lyin’ about where anyone 
could lay their hand upon it? Sure, then 
people would say : 4 ’Tis aisy enough to 

account for the names not bein’ in it. ’ But 
if after sarchin’ an’ sarchin’ they found it 
under a slab stone, where the divil himself 
couldn’t find it (savin’ he knew where it 
w^as): ‘That book was never touched since 
the priest — since the chapel was closed for 
sarvices.’ That’s what they’d say thin.” 

“There’s something in that,” said Ronyane. 

4 ‘But why did you let me go on a wild goose 
chase when you knew the leaf was de- 
stroyed ? ” 

“I wanted to surprise ye a trifle if be 
chance ye found the book and looked inside 
of it; ye’d be surprised, wouldn’t ye sur; thin 
I wanted to show ye that I wasn’t af eared to 


AN HOUR'S TRIUMPH. 


177 


go inside of the haunted chapel at night.” 

“You might have spared me a very un- 
pleasant interview with that poor, demented 
creature, Abby Creigh,” 

“I didn’t know she was there, sur, or I 
would. Anyway, I was goin’ to tell ye as ye 
wor goin’ through the windy where to find 
the book, but that minute I saw Shamus Roe 
cornin’ up the lane. I wouldn’t call ye thin 
for fear he’d hear me, an’ I knew he wouldn’t 
look inside the chapel for he’s afeared o’ 
ghosts, so I hides behind a tree till he passed 
me and thin made me way down to the Sack 
O’ Flour.” 

“And left me to be nearly murdered by 
that night-prowling scoundrel. ” 

■ ‘Ah, sure sur, ye ought to be able for him 
any day, but look at the fall we can take out 
o’ him now, him and thim. But maybe, sur, ” 
said the inventive sniveller, “maybe ’tis 
wrong I dun in burnin’ the lafe.” 

‘ ‘If what you say is true, you have done 
me a great service, for which you shall have 
the Sack O’ Flour.” 

“Ah, Mr. Ronyane, sure ’tisn’t f or the sake 
o’ the Sack O’ Flour I dun it; ’tis the grate 
regard I have for ye, sur.” 


178 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Well, Tobe, through your grate regard for 
me I can defy Alice Moyne to prove that she 
is the heiress, but first I must collect my 
thoughts and then I will visit the Lady 
Alice.” 

A parting glass with Tobe, and Ronyane 
sauntered leisurely down the lane toward the 
river. 

Tobe laughed as he looked after the reced- 
ing figure of Maurice Ronyane. 4 ‘His mind 
is aisy about the missin’ lafe,” said he, as he 
took up the bottle to replenish his empty 
glass. ‘ ‘That is if there is a missin’ lafe. Sure 
if it was where he says, underneath a stone 
forninst the altar, divil a sight anyone had 
of it for years till last night. No one knew 
where it was or bothered thimselves about it, 
an’ I don’t think Abby Creigh set her two 
eyes upon it, since the last couple was 
married in the chapel, till she gave it to Ro- 
nyane. I’ve no rayson to fear any lafe from 
that book turnin’ up at this late day. So the 
Sack O’ Flour is still mine, an’ Hale Brandon 
(if we can’t sind him to jail), him an’ his 
frinds’ll have to pack bag an’ baggage out o’ 
this,” and Tobe laughed loudly. 

“ ’Tis enjoyin’ yerself ye seem to be, drink- 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


179 


in’ an’ laughin’,” said Shamus, who had just 
returned from the cottage, and was about to 
enter the mill as he heard Tobe’s laughter. 

“Why wouldn’t I enjoy meself, sure no 
one can stop me from laughin’ whin I like, 
an’ drinkin’ what’s me own, can they ? ” 

‘ ‘Oh ! the sorra the one. ” replied Shamus. 

‘ ‘A man may drink whin he’s dry, an’ laugh 
whin he has somethin’ to laugh at. You’re 
always dry, so drink away, but it bothers me 
to know what y er laughin’ at. ” 

“Bekase I’m in the humor; is that answer 
enough for ye ? ” 

“Oh, indeed it is, but sure, I might have 
known that yer such a humorous kitten, but 
what puts ye in such good humor to-day ? ” 

“Joy at the downfall of some of my good 
friends” sneeringly replied Tobe. 

“Twould be an odd thing,” said Shamus, 
“to hear of the downfall of any o’ your 
friends . Savin’ they fall in a ditch from a 
skin full o’ your liquor.” 

“Jibe away, Shamus Roe; but my time 
has come ” 

“Not yet Tobe,” interrupted Shamus. 
“But it will soon.” 

“I say my time has come to see you an’ 


180 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

yer uncle an’ Alice Moyne an’ Nale Bran- 
don druv out o’ this part o’ the country ; ye 
all lorded it over me to yer hearts contint, 
now ’tis my turn. Why, man alive, my sides 
aches laughin’ whin I think of it.” 

Shamus watched the contortions of Tobe’s 
face until he thought that he (Tobe) would 
burst a blood vessel, and thereby cheat the 
gallows. Still Tobe laughed on, little dream- 
ing in the exuberance of his joy, that above 
his head, at that very moment, hung sus- 
pended an ax, the sustaining power of which 
was no stronger than a spider’s web. 

When at last from sheer exhaustion, Tobe 
stopped laughing, Shamus asked: “Who’s 
goin’ to do the drivin’, Tobe ? If we’re goin’ 
to be druv like a parcel o’ sheep, ’tis well to 
know who houlds the whip.” 

“A man that’ll not fail to use it. Maurice 
Ronyane, no less. Shamus Roe, ye did a bad 
job whin ye knocked him down last night.” 

“How do you know I knocked him down 
last night ? Wor ye there ? ” 

“No ! ” I was home in my bed. I wasn’t 
near the crag last night.” 

“Then who tould ye that I knocked him 
down? Was it the fairies that come to yer 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


181 


bed an’ whispered it to ye ? ” 

“No, he tould me here, himself, a while 
ago.” 

“ ’Tis airly he kem to you wid the news.” 

4 4 Who else would he come to here but me ? 
’Tis small welcome they have for him above 
at the cottage.” 

“Small blame to thim for that.” 

“Yis, an’ small blame to him for tryin’ 
to get what belongs to him. ’Tis time he 
showed her, wid her high an’ mighty ways, 
that she has no right here. He wint to the 
chapel to get the book, bring it to her an’ 
show her that her father an’ mother’s names 
was not in it, but you saved him the trouble. ” 

4 4 I did, bad cess to me, an’ now I’m sorry 
for it.” 

“Av coorse, ye’re sorry whin ’tis too late, 
but you’re too aisily led, an’ ’tis a grate pity, 
for ye’re a very knowin’ boy.” 

“Oh, I am sur, ’tis the power o’ knowledge 
I have; sure I know enough to hang some 
people.” 

“To be sure ye do,” and Tobe chuckled, 
“ye know very well that ’twas Nale Brandon 
that robbed the mill.” 

“Whisper Tobe, betune you an’ me, I 


182 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


know well who robbed the mill.” 

“Swear to it, Shamus, swear that ye saw 
him do it an’ it’ll be a purty pinny in yer 
pocket. ” 

“Will it now? The pinny ’d be very wel- 
come after I’m druv out by Mr. Ronyane.” 

“I think, Shamus, he’d lave you stop here 
if ye’d only show Nale Brandon that he can’t 
wind ye ’round his finger like a piece o’ 
thread. Sind him where the dogs can’t bite 
him an’ you’ll be safe enough. ” 

“Well, that’ll be a consolation, anyway, to 
know that I’ll be safe, no matter what be- 
comes o’ him; ’tis a thorn he is in the sides o’ 
both o’ yez. 

4 ‘I hate him ; sure if it wasn’t for him, you 
an’ me’d be friends to-day. ” 

“No, not to-day Tobe; we might be yister- 
day, but not to-day.” 

4 ‘For what ray son ? ” 

“Well, ye see, you an’ me’ll soon part com- 
pany, an’ whin we do, it won’t be long before 
you’ll get a rise in the world, an’ thin ye’ll 
never look at me agin.” 

“Ye’ll always be welcome at the Sack O’ 
Flour, if ye’ll only do as I bid ye now, but 
come lave us drink to my risin’ in the world.” 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


183 


* ‘I would Tobe wid all my heart, but I have 
the pledge.” 

4 ‘Bah, the pledge made to a couple o’ petti- 
coats, ” said Tobe disdainfully, 4 ‘isn’t worth a 
pinch o’ snuff, show them that yer a man an’ 


“I will,” interrupted Shamus, “but to be a 
man I must ate, an’ I’m as hungry as a salt- 
cod in fresh wather. Bring me a bite o’ some- 
thin’, divil a morsel did they cook above in 
the cottage to-day. Ye see they’re in so much 
trouble, that ” 

“May they never get out of it,” said Tobe, 
as he entered the Sack O’ Flour. 

As Tobe went after the “bite o’ somethin’ 
to eat,” Shamus crossed over to the mill and 
called, “Danny ! Danny ! ” 

“Here I am Shamus,” said the little fellow, 
as he looked out of the window of the loft, 
“but I’m achin’ wid the hunger.” 

“Lave the windy open,” said Shamus, “an’ 
I’ll throw ye somethin’ up after awhile, but 
don’t stir from where ye are till I call ye.” 

“No fear, sur,” and Danny disappeared 
from the window as Tobe came from the 
shebeen with half a loaf of bread, a piece of 
cold ham, and a large knife. 


184 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“There ye are, Shamus,” said Tobe, as he 
placed the provender on the table. “Now 
ate yer fill an’ wash it down wid a taste o’ 
this.” Raising the bottle to fill a glass for 
Shamus, he discovered that it was empty. 
“Not a drop in it, Well, no matter, the 
Lord be praised there’s plinty more inside. 
Now, Shamus, make yerself comfortable, 
yer my friend an’ must ate an’ drink at my 
expinse to-day.” Intent on conciliating 
Shamus, Tobe made another pilgrimage for 
the purpose of regaling him. 

Shamus again crossed to the mill, and 
climbing up the door which stood open, 
called Danny, and handed him the bread 
and meat, which the poor child began to 
masticate with avidity as Shamus returned to 
the table. 

‘ 4 ‘May they never get out of it ’ (mailin’ the 
trouble, an’ for thim above at the cottage) 
that’s what he said. Ah, thin, Mr. Tobe 
O’Keefe, whether they get out of it or not, 
’tis in it you’ll get to-day. I’ll frighten him 
a trifle fust by puttin’ a couple o’ hot irons 
under his feet to see how he’ll stand the 
hate.” 

Tobe returned with the replenished bottle. 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 185 

‘ ‘Come, Shamus, my boy, drink while ye ate 

an Where is it ? ” asked the astonished 

Tobe, as he noticed the absence of the bread 
and meat. 

“Gone, every morsel of it,” replied Shamns. 

“’Tis hungry ye wor. Well, much good 
may it do ye. ” 

“Never fear, Tobe, ’tis a power o’ good 
’tis doin’ where it is now.” 

“Wash it down wid a taste o’ this.” Tobe 
filled a glass with liquor and held it towards 
Shamus. 

“No, I never could drink upon an empty 
stomach.” 

The extended glass nearly dropped out of 
Tobe’s hand as he looked at Shamus and re- 
peated his last words, “Impty stomach ? ” 

“Yis,” said Shamus, “what I ate this 
mornin’ wouldn’t keep a mouse alive. ” 

‘ ‘ ’Tis the stomach of an ox ye have. Here 
see if ’twill hould this wid the rest. ” 

“No,” and Shamus waved aside the still 
proffered glass, ‘ ‘ I’m not dry ; ’tis sleep I 
want, not drink.” 

“Small blame te ye,” replied Tobe, “for I 
suppose ’tis little sleep ye had last night.” 

“The sorra’s the wink,” yawned Shamus. 


186 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“how could I sleep wid the drames that I 
had ? ” 

“Drames ? ” 

6 c Yis, above upon the crag near the haunted 
chapel.” 

“What did ye drame, Shamus ? ” 

“Well, whin I wint up upon the crag the 
night was fine (glory be to God !). So, after 
smokin’ a pipe or two, I laid down under the 
ivy that covered the wall; soon the drame 
kem upon me; I thought I heard beautiful 
music playin’, thin of a sudden it stopped an’ 
I saw cornin’ up the Lover’s Lane two robbers. 
Whin they got upon the crag they stood as 
close to me as you are now an’ began talkin’ 

about some book or other, thin ” 

“Ah, what are ye talkin’ about, man,” in- 
terrupted Tobe nervously. 

“About my drame; oh ’twas a marvelous 
one. Well, sur, after a time one o’ the rob- 
bers wint away and left the other one there, 
but he didn’t stay long, he was frightened at 
somethin’ and took to his heels, whin the 
voice of some one up in a tree over my head 
tould him to stop. Ah, Tobe, ’tis a good 
thing ye wor home in yer bed last night, for 
if ye ever heard the voice above in the tree, 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


187 


’twould have frightened the life out o’ ye.” 

4 ‘I’m not so aisily frightened, ” said Tobe. 
“but why are ye tellin’ me this ? ” 

“Didn’t ye say a while ago that ye were 
my frind, an’ who would I tell it to but my 
frind, an’ to-day won’t I prove my frindship 
by placin’ in the hands of the sheriff of Cork 
the thief that robbed the mill ? ” 

“Nale Brandon; ’twas him that dun it, 
Shamus, but lie’s keepin’ close. De ye think 
ye can find him ? ” 

“Ah, the villain o’ the world, to rob my 
poor Uncle Jerry.” 

4 4 Whisper, Tobe, I can lay my hand upon 
him as aisy as I can upon you,” and Shamus 
laid his hand on Tobe’s shoulder. 

4 4 But it isn’t aisy, yer layin’ yer hand upon 
me,” said Tobe as he wriggled and squirmed 
to get out of the clutch of Shamus. • ‘Take 
it away, sure one’d think be the way yer 
liouldin’ me that ’twas me ye suspected.” 

“I’ve gone bey and suspectin’ ” said Shamus 
as he released Tobe from his grasp,” no Tobe 
I don’t suspect you. But I haven’t inded my 
drame yet. Well sur, whin the robber was 
tould to stop by him in the tree, he fell upon 
his knees an’ shook like a lafe ; small blame 


188 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


to him, for would ye believe it sur, lie thin 
and there confessed that ’twas he that mur- 
dered Father Owen Creigh, the Lord ’a mercy 
on him.” 

“Ye say ye heard him confess,” said Tobe, 
as he reached for, and got possession of, the 
knife on the table. 

“In my drame, yis,” replied Shamus. 

“Of course ye saw him in yer ‘drame’. 
What did he look like ? ” and Tobe weighed 
each word as he asked the question. 

‘ ‘ The very picture of you” answered Sham- 
us. 

Tobe jumped up, knife in hand, and rushed 
upon Shamus, but quick as thought the ‘ ‘vag- 
abone” had him by the wrist, and held his 
hand aloft. 

“I was about to tell ye Tobe, how the 
murderer said he dun it, but you wor goin’ 
to save me the trouble, by plungin’ that 
knife into my side, just as he said he plunged 
it into the side of the holy man, an’ that 
knife that ye hould in yer hand is the very 
picture of the one he said he kilt him wid. 
Look, Tobe, look, there’s human blood upon 
it /” 

Tobe dropped the knife, and with a cry of 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


189 


liorror, rushed into the Sack O’ Flour. 

“The hot irons is burniiT his feet,” said 
Shamus, as he picked up the knife, and in 
true brigand fashion, placed it in the waist, 
band of his breeches under his coat. ‘ Til 
keep this for fear he’d make away wid it. It’ll 
never cut another morsel o’ bread or mate for 
Tobe O’Keefe or his customers. All I’m 
af eared of is, that I made the irons too hot, 
an’ that he’ll suspect me of knowin’ too much 
an’ give me the slip. Well, I’ll not lose sight 
him for long anyway. I’ll find Con Fagin, an’ 
sind him to Cork for the Sheriff.” As Shamus 
started on his mission, he was hailed by 
Danny. 

“Shamus,” said the little voice in a whisp- 
er, 4 ‘come up here I have a power to tell ye, 
about what I heard thim say.” 

“I haven’t time now Danny, wait till I 
come back. Don’t stir from where ye are, 
unless ye see yer uncle Tobe lave the Sack O’ 
Flour. If ye do, folly him, an’ let me know 
where he’s gone.” 

Danny withdrew into the loft, as Shamus 
wended his way up the road in the direction 
of the Lover’s Lane. 

In a few moments Tobe came from the Sack 


190 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


O’ Flour, looking ten years older since Sham- 
us told him there was human blood upon the 
knife. “He’s gone,” said the poor haunted 
creature, ‘ ‘gone, an’ taken the knife wid him. 
So much the better he took it, to put it in ivi- 
dence again me, but I’ll turn the tables upon 
him. So ’tis him that was in the tree, an’ 
nearly frightened the life out o’ me; made me 
confess an — but no jury would believe that 
I was such a fool. Folly on Shamus Roe ; 
you had your fling last night, I think it’ll be 
mine to-day, for before the night falls, I’ll 
have you where ye can drame to yer heart’s 
content, an’ in the mornin’ have no one to 
tell it to. Ah, if I had only took a drain o’ 
this wid me last night (Tobe referred to the 
contents of the bottle) neither man nor divil 
would make me confess what I did.” Filling 
a glass he was about to raise it to his lips, 
when he paused, and laid the glass on the 
table. “I’ll drink no more to-day, as Maurice 
Ronyane says I must collect my thoughts 
to see what’s before me.” 

Ah, if Tobe O’Keefe only hnew what was 
before him as he sat at the table to collect 
his thoughts ! 

While Shamus Roe was relating his 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


191 


“drame” to Tobe, Tyler McCabe was seated 
near the window in Alice Moyne’s cottage 
diligently searching the Marriage Record of 
St. Mary’s, for the names of her father and 
mother, but his search was in vain. 

4 ‘I’ll go over it once again, ” said the per- 
sistent schoolmaster, “the names must be 
here or else there’s been foul play.” 

“Of course there’s been foul play,” said 
Neil Brandon, who a few moments before had 
joined the party in the cottage, “and Maur- 
ice Ronyane knows all about it.” 

“To give the divil his jew,” said Jerry Roe 
‘ ‘I don’t believe Ronyane ever saw that book 

till last night, but thin he might •” 

“Aisy,” exclaimed the schoolmaster, inter- 
rupting Jerry, “aisy, what’s this ? ” 

They all gathered around the man of 
“lamin’ ”. 

“See,” he continued, “on the bottom of 
this page is the name of John Dargin to 

Mary . Ye can see there wasn’t room 

enough to finish the name, and here,” as he 
turned over a page, ‘ ‘begins a new entry at 
the top of this page, leaving the name of 
John Dargin’s wife Mary to yer imagination. 
My friends, there's been a lafe taken from 


192 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


this hooky 

“And on that leaf was registered the names 
of my father and mother,” said Alice Moyne, 

“Well,” and the schoolmaster shook his 
head, ‘ ‘I don’t think the names of anyone is 
on it to-day, for whoever cut that lafe out o’ 
this book has destroyed it.” 

There was a knock at the cottage door. 

“Come in,” said Alice. 

The door swung open and Maurice Ronyane 
entered. “I beg your pardon,” said the in- 
truder, “I thought Miss Moyne was alone.” 
He was about to retire when Alice spoke. 

‘ ‘These are my friends , sir, and if you have 
anything to say to me, it can be said in their 
presence.” 

“Your friends are my friends, I trust,” and 
there was suavity in the voice of the double- 
faced scoundrel as he bowed low and con- 
tinued : ‘ ‘I have very little to say to you at 
present. I merely came to get your acknow- 
ledgement of the truth of my assertion. I 
refer to the Marriage Record of Saint Mary’s. 

‘ ‘The truth of your assertion I will never 
acknowledge,” replied Alice. “There has 
been a page stolen from that book, and on 
that page was recorded my father and 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


193 


mother’s marriage.” 

“Absurd,” laughed Ronyane. “Yet for 
the sake of argument, admitting that a page 
has been abstracted, why that particular 
page, while all the others remain intact ? ” 

“Because,” replied Alice. “On that par- 
ticular page was the obstacle that barred 
your way to the accession of this estate. ” 

“Your words, I take it Miss Moyne, are 
meant to cast a slur upon my honor.” 

“Your honor,” said Neil Brandon, sneer- 
ingly. “I doubt if you know the meaning 
of the word.” 

“For which doubt,” replied Ronyane, 
angrily, “I would call you to account if 
you were a gentleman. ” 

“If such as you lay claim to the term 
gentleman, I thank heaven I am not in the 
same category. But lam a man,” said Neil, 
proudly, “and as such I will hold you re- 
sponsible for your cowardly persecution of 
this lady.” 

‘ ‘ You hold me responsible, ” Ronyane 
laughed scornfully. “Look you, sir, for 
aught I may say or do, I will not be held 
responsible by a thief.” 

Neil Brandon jumped up, and was about 


194 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


to rush at Ronyane, when the voice of Alice 
Moyne recalled him to his senses. 

“Remember,” said the terrified girl. “Neil 
Brandon, remember where you are ! ” 

“You can see,” said Ronyane, glad and 
lucky at the interference of Alice, “what a 
boor he is, a person who knew anything 
would not be remiss in courtsey to a gentle- 
man beneath his own roof.” 

4 ‘I deny that yer beneath yer own roof, ” 
and the tall form of Tyler McCabe confronted 
Ronyane, 4 ‘before ye lay claim to a slate upon 
it, we’ll have recourse to the law,” Mr. 
Maurice Ronyane. 

4 ‘The sooner you have recourse to the law,” 
replied Ronyane, ‘ ‘the sooner will I come into 
possession of what belongs to me, Mr. Tyler 
McCabe. 

“Ah, thin,” said Jerry Roe, “if the law 
gives you possession of what belongs to ye, 
it’ll give ye possession of a prison cell.” 

“I’ll have my say to you later on, Mr. Jerry 
Roe.” 

Bowing to Alice, Ronyane left the 
cottage. As he proceeded towards the Sack 
O’ Flour, his thoughts made him laugh, they 
ran thus: “I’ve stirred them up, they are 


AN HOUR’S TRIUMPH. 


195 


like a swarm of bees, and become aggressive 
when you would remove the hive that covers 
them, but the leaf burned by Tobe O’Keefe, 
renders their sting powerless. ‘ ‘Ah, this is 
indeed, an hour of triumph.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


** THE MISSING LEAF. 

After leaving the mill, Shamus Roe lost no 
time in reaching the cottage of Mrs. Grady, 
that being the most likely place to find Con 
Fagin, but there disappointment awaited 
him, for, contrary to his usual custom, on 
that day Con failed to put in an appearance. 

“Won’t ye go inside an’ see Nancy,” asked 
the good widow, whom Shamus found (to use 
her own expression) “up to her nick in suds.” 

“No, thank ye mam,” replied Shamus, 
“I’ve no time for Nancy to-day.” 

“No, nor any other day;” and Mrs. Grady 
threw a bundle of unwashed clothes into the 
tub, spattering Shamus all over with soap 
suds. “Since Hannora McCabe kem to the 
fore, I suppose my daughter’s not good 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


197 


enough for ye. ” 

4 ‘Hannora McCabe, mam, has always been 
to the fore wid me,” said Shamus, as he 
rubbed his clothes with a cotton handker- 
chief, 44 an’ as for your daughter, she’s good 
enough for any honest boy, but ’tis not a 
wife I’m huntin’ to-day Mrs. Grady, but Con 
Fagin.” So saying, Shamus turned upon 
his heel, and left the widow to her washing. 

As the 4 ‘vagabone” turned into the Lover’s 
Lane, on his way back to the mill, giving up 
all hope for the present of finding Con, and 
fearful of Tobe giving him the slip, he dis- 
tinctly heard some one calling him by name. 
Looking up the lane he saw the weird form 
of Abby Creigh approaching him from the 
direction of the haunted chapel. He was 
about to run, when she summoned him to 
stop, and very reluctantly he obeyed her. 
On nearing him, she put the question. 

4 4 Are you afraid of me, Shamus Roe?” 

“No, ma — mam, but I’m in a great hurry,” 
stammered Shamus, as he moved a step or 
two away from her. 

“Stay where you are,” said she, as she took 
from her bosom a small folded paper, and 
held it up. “Do you know what this is? ” 


198 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Yis, mam, ’tis a piece o’ paper I think,” 
replied Shamus. 

“Tis a leaf taken from the Marriage Rec- 
ord of Saint Mary’s ; I cut it out myself.” 

“Did ye, mam ; well I suppose ye had a 
right to cut it out if ye plased. ” 

4 ‘They think I’m mad, ” and Abby laughed, 

‘ ‘Do you think I’m mad ? ” 

“Well, mam, ye see I’m a poor judge o’ 
madness. I’m a better judge o’ whate, an’ if 

ye plaze, mam, I must be goin’ ” 

“Aha!” cried the poor woman, “I’m sane 
enough to foil them in their attempt to ruin 
the good name of an honest girl. I’ve always 
liked Alice Moyne.” 

For the first time, since Abby took the 
paper from her bosom, it dawned upon the 
mind of Shamus that perhaps that was the 
paper to make the heart of Alice Moyne glad, 
for in his anxiety to get away from the mad 
woman he never gave a thought to the book 
taken from Maurice Ronyane, even when 
Abby mentioned it to him. 

“De ye mane to tell me, mam, that that’s 
the piece o’ paper wid the names of Miss 
Moyne’s father and mother upon it ? 

“Yes. Here, take it to her,” and she 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


199 


handed Shamus the missing leaf. Tell her I 
took it from the book to save her good name 
and baffle two villains.” 

“The Lord bless ye for it, mam. Miss, sure 
’tis the good news this’ll be to her.” 

“Good news ! Yes, there’s good news for 
every one but me. Take it to her while I go 
and continue my search.” 

“Did ye lose something, mam?” asked 
Shamus, as Abby turned away. 

“Lose something,” said Abby as she again 
faced Shamus, lose something ! Why, did ye 
not know ? I lost my brother Owen, and I’m 
searching day and night for his murderer, 
but all in vain — all in vain.” 

“Well, mam, it’ll be vain no longer, as I’ve 
found the murderer of Father Owen.” 

* ‘ Found him , did you say? ” and there came a 
scream from Abby that turned the blood cold 
in the veins of Shamus Roe. “Where, where 
is he ? ” 

‘ ‘Below, near the mill, ma’am, and as one 
good turn deserves another, if ye’ll be at the 
mill in about an hour I’ll show him to ye, for 
to-day, wid the help o’ God, I’ll give him into 
the hands of the law.” 

“Law,” cried the demented creature, “what 


200 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

law should there be for such as he ? Ah yes, 
the law of the Jews , ‘an eye for an eye, a 
tooth fora tooth,’ ” and leaving Shamus she 
ran, laughing wildly, up the lane towards 
the haunted chapel. 

Shamus placed the precious piece of paper 
in the inside pocket of his waistcoat and 
walked slowly back to the mill. He also 
wanted to collect his thoughts and lay out 
his plan of battle, as he had several batteries 
already loaded and primed to open on the 
two conspirators, but didn’t know which one 
to fire first. As he approached the mill, he 
saw Ronyane and O’Keefe seated at the table 
near the Sack O’ Flour. 

1 4 Why are you not at your morning’s work?” 
was Ronyane’s greeting. 

“I am,” replied Shamus, “an’ ’tis the best 
mornin’s work I iver dun.” 

“Out hunting blackbirds again, I suppose; 
did you find any ? ” 

“No, I have as many as I can keep my eye 
on at present.” 

“See here, Roe,” said Ronyane mockingly, 
“you’ve mistaken your vocation, you’d make 
a good Scotland Yard man.” 

“I’m content enough,” replied Shamus, as 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


201 


he sat on a pile of sacks, “to be a good Glan- 
mire man.” 

“I’m afraid your usefulness in Glanmire 
lias reached its limit*” 

“Well, I dunno,” said Shamus, lighting his 
pipe, “but I’ll stay here anyway till you get 
yours. ” 

“Until I get what? ” 

“Your limit,” and Shamus blew the smoke 
above his head. 

“What do you mean,” said Ronyane. 
rising and approaching Shamus. 

“Just what I said,” and Shamus puffed 
away. 

“You said you would remain here until I 
got my limit. ” 

“No ! I said I’d stay here an’ that’s what 
I mane.” 

“Now let me tell you what I mean : First, 
you are no longer in my employ.” 

4 ‘Which manes that I’m not to work for 
ye any more ? ” 

“That is just what it means.” 

“Then ye have nothin’ to say if I work 
agin ye ? ” 

‘ ‘That is what you have been doing ever 
since you entered the mill. You confessed 


202 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

to Tobe O’Keefe that you know who robbed 
me.” 

4 ‘I know who robbed the mill, if that’s 
what ye mane.” 

“And yet you have not given him up to 
justice, which proves you to be an accessory.” 

44 A which?” And Shamus blew a cloud 
of smoke in Ronyane’s face. 

44 A party to the act,” replied Ronyane, 
coughing. 

“It was a dirty act, an’ dun by a dirty 
blackguard.” 

“Of course; and yet you allow him to 
mingle with honest men. ” 

“Birds of a feather’ll flock together. Thim 
that I’ve seen him wid are as bad as himself. ” 

“And are all in league against me. Take 
my advice, Shamus Roe, prefer the charge 
of robbery against him, or I’ll have you both 
safely lodged in jail before night.” 

“Is it the thief and me? Oh, he’ll be 
there safe enough ; but as for me I’m com- 
fortable in the lodgin’s I’m in. Now let me 
tell you what I mane.” Shamus raised from 
the sack and shook the ashes from his pipe. 
“Fust? I’ll not take your discharge from 
the mill, for I’ll stay there in spite o’ ye ; 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


203 


nixt, if ye ever agin accuse me o’ bein’ a 

acciss or what ever ye call it, in place 

o’ your sindin’ me to the jail, I’ll sind you to 
the hospital. Ye know me, Maurice Ronyane, 
an’ ye know I’ll keep my word.” An the 
vagabone looked him straight in the eye. 

“Come away from him, come away ! ” cried 
Tobe, as he ran to Ronyane and drew him 
away from Shamus, “he has a knife upon 
him, an’ may be tempted to use it, come lave 
us go inside. ” 

“Your threatening me in the presence of 
this witness, Shamus Roe, will be another 
mark against you,” said Ronyane, as he en- 
tered the Sack O’ Flour, followed by Tobe. 

“Any marks that you have agin me,” 
shouted Shamus, ‘ ‘I’ll rub out as clanely as I 
did the figures on Tobe’s slate.” 

Shamus turned to go to the cottage to de- 
liver to Alice Moyne Abby Creigh’s message 
and the missing leaf, when he saw Hannora 
coming towards him, sobbing as though her 
heart would break. 

“Hannora darlin’,” said the “vagabone,” 
as he put his arm around her waist, “is it 
cryin’ ye are this beautiful mornin’ ? ” 

“Is it laughin’ ye’d have me?” replied 


204 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


Hannora between her sobs, “an’ we all in so 
much trouble.” 

“Ah, throw yer trouble to the winds,” 
laughed Shamus, as he drew her towards him 
and kissed her. “Sure I’m bilin’ over wid 
joy.” 

“Joy ! ” exclaimed the astonished Hannora. 

“Yis, I’ve a load of it here on my heart,” 
and Shamus placed his hand over the missing- 
page. “Nora, dear, I’ve that inside o’ my 
waistcoat that’ll make ye all dance wid joy.” 

“Yerra, what have ye there, Shamus ? ” 

He was about to tell her, when he hesitated. 
“No,” said he aside, “I’ll surprise thim all at 
once.” 

‘ ‘Shamus, dear, what is it ? ” 

“What’s what, Nora?” 

“That that ye have inside yer waistcoat 
an’ll make us all dance wid joy.” 

“Did I say I had somethin’ there that’d 
make ye all dance ? ” 

“Yis, wid joy, Shamus.” 

“Well, ’tis there yet, an’ ’tis somethin’ ye’d 
give yer two blessed eyes for.” 

“Thin why don’t ye tell me what it is ? ” 

“Bekase I’m af eared ye might tell some of 
the girls an’ they might stale it.” 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


205 


“The sorra’s the word will I say about it.” 

“Will ye promise me that, Hannora?” 

“I will, Shamus.” 

“Thin, darlin’ I’ll tell ye. Inside o’ my 
waistcoat is meself.” And Shamus laughed 
loudly. 

“Well, ’tis not much that’s inside it, bad 
cess to ye,” said Hannora angrily, “ye ought 
to be ashamed o’ yerself Shamus Roe, laughin’ 
like that whin poor Alice Moyne is cryin’ her 
eyes out.” 

“What is she cryin’ about?” innocently 
asked Shamus. 

‘ ‘The missin’ laf e out o’ the book, an’ she’s 
af eared it’ll never be found. ” 

“Who says it’ll never be found.” 

“My father.” 

“Your father’s an ould jackass.” 

“What’s that,” screamed Hannora. 

4 T mane your father is a schoolmaster, an’ 
a grate man; but schoolmasters an’ grate 
min don’t know everything. Who tould her 
there was a missin’ laf e ? ” 

“My father; didn’t he go through the 
book. ” 

“Ah, Nora, dear, ’tis many a book your 
father wint through, an’ ’tis many a lafe 


206 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


he missed.” 

“ ’Twould be well for yon, Shamus Roe f if 
ye wor half as well lamed as my father.” 

“There isn’t a man in Glanmire,” said 
Shamus, with an air of consequence, ‘ ‘knows 
half as much as I do to-day.” 

“My, my, but it is a grate opinion we 
have of ourselves. Was it a fairy ye kissed 
this mornin’ that gave ye all this know- 
ledge ? ” 

“No, dear,” replied Shamus. “’Twas an 
angel I kissed this mornin’ whin I kissed 
you. ” 

“Well, if ye do it agin I’ll slap your face.” 

“I’ll take slaps all day for kisses from ye.” 
And the brawny fellow put his arms around 
her and drew her towards bim. A scream, 
loud and strong from the imprisoned Nora, 
brought the schoolmaster, Jerry, Neil and 
Alice to her side. 

“What ails ye, Hannora?” asked her 
father. “What made ye screech ? ” 

“He didwid his goin’s on,” cried the girl 
as she ran to her father’s arms. “I believe 
he’s mad. Keep him away from me. ” “Yerra, 
don’t mind her, schoolmaster,” laughed 
Shamus. “Sure ’tis only the joy that’s in 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


207 


me that makes me a trifle playful.” 

4 ‘Fitter for ye be a trifle sober ; wor ye 
drinkin’ again? ” asked Jerry. 

“Yis, sur, I was,” humbly replied Sham us. 

“Oh, Shamus, Shamus!” said Alice re 
proachfully. 

“What wor ye drinkin’ ye blackguard,” 
asked the miller. “Was it whiskey ? ” 

“No, sur, ’twas the jew from Hannora’s 
lips whin she screeched. ” 

In despite of their depressed spirits, there 
was a supressed laugh at the vagabone’s re- 

ply- 

“Out o’ my sight, an’ go to yer work,” said 
Jerry as he turned aside to hide the smile on 
his good natured face. 

“Where’ll I go to work uncle Jurry ? ” 

“In the mill, of course; where else would 
ye go?” 

“I can’t do it, sur.” 

“Why not?”' 

“Bekase I’m discharged.” 

4 4 Who discharged ye ? ” 

“Him that says he has the right, Maurice 
Ronyane.” 

“He’s beginning soon,” said Tyler McCabe. 

“Yis, sur, but his ind’ll be all the sooner, 


208 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

wait,” and Shamus gave the schoolmaster a 
knowing wink. 

The bell rang the noon hour, as Ronyane 
and Tobe emerged from the Sack O’ Flour. 
There was a smile on the senior partner’s 
face, as the men came from the mill. “Wait 
boys,” said he, “I’ve something to say to 
you.” 

The millers turned towards Ronyane, and 
in respectful silence, waited to hear what he 
had to say. 

“You all know that the mill has been 
robbed.” 

“Yis, sur, we do,” and James Dooley, an 
old miller stepped forward; “An’ we all 
thank God that none of us was there whin 
’twas dun.” 

“Had you been there at the time, my friends 
you would not have been suspected. I know 
who the thief is.” 

“Oh, indeed ye do,” laughed Shamus. 

“And so does Shamus Roe; he confessed 
as much to Mr. O’Keefe.” 

“Yis, boys, I did; I tould Mister O’Keefe 
that I knew who the thief was. ” 

There was a puzzled expression on the faces 
of all as they looked at each other. 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


209 


“You are honest hard-working men,” said 
Ronyane, “and would not have a thief 
amongst you if you knew him to be such.” 

“No sir, we would not,” came from all the 
millers. 

“And yet, without knowing him to be such, 
the thief who robbed the mill has been among 
you for years.” 

“Yis, boys, said Shamus, “ye’ve seen him 
ivery day, an’ he’s here this very minute, bad 
luck to him. ” 

“Who is he, Shamus? ” asked James Dooley, 

‘ ‘pint him out to us. ” 

“I will ” 

“One moment?” interrupted Ronyane. 

“I’m in no hurry,” said Shamus, as he 
looked at Tobe, “the thief is on the griddle 
an’ I’d like to keep him there a little longer.” 

‘ ‘My friends, as I have no doubt the thief, 
when he is named, will attempt to escape, 
those of you who will assist me in preventing 
him shall have constant employment in the 
mill, for, remember, I will have sole possession 
of it the first of the month.” 

Ronyane looked at Alice Moyne and her 
friends to see what effect his words had upon 
them. 


210 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Boys,” said Sliamus, “Mr. Ronyane’d 
make a good prayclier, that is if he’d only 
prache from the right book, an’ not count 
his chickens before they’re hatched ; he has 
no eggs, an’ he won’t have sole possession o’ 
the mill the first o’ the month.” 

There was an amused smile on Ronyane’s 
face, as he asked, “Who will prevent me, 
pray ? ” 

“I’m not in the humor to pray,” said 
Shamus, misunderstanding the application 
of the word, “but I’ll tell ye who’ll prevent 
ye, the owner o’ the mill, Alice Moyne.” 

Ronyane laughed loudly. “I defy Alice 
Moyne, or any of her friends to prove 
that she owns a blade of grass on this estate.” 

“A blade o’ grass,” replied Shamus. “A 
as one o’ her frinds, can prove that she owns 
enough o’ grass on this estate to feed ould 
Nancy beyant for the rest o’ her life.” 

“Indeed, how can you prove it?” 

“By bringing from its hidin’ place, the 
missin’ lafe from the Marriage Record, o’ 
Saint Mary’s, wid her father an’ mother’s 
names on it, an’ here it is,” said Shamus, as 
he held it up. 

There was a cry of joy from Alice as she 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


211 


snatched the leaf from the hand of Shamus, 
while consternation was plainly fixed on the 
face of Maurice Ronyane. 

“It is a forgery,” yelled the baffled conspir- 
ator. 

‘ ‘That’s for you to prove, ” answered Sham- 
us; “Ye’ll have a good witness in Abby 
Creigh, for ’twas her that took it from the 
book, to privint you, an’ yer hinchman, Tobe 
O’Keefe, from makin’ a bonfire out of it.” 
and with a laugh, the “vagabone” joined the 
others who had gathered around Alice Moyne 
to congratulate her, which fact prevented 
their seeing Ronyane seize Tobe by the throat 
as he hissed in his ear : 

“D — n you, you have lied to me; you told 
me you burned it.” 

“Lave go o’ my nick,” cried the almost 
strangled wretch, “lave it go, I say, or I’ll 
tell all.” 

The threat had its effect for, with a sup- 
pressed oath, Ronyane pushed him away. 

‘ ‘‘ Whisper Shamus, ” said Hannora, as she 
called him away from the others, “there’s 
some more jew on my lips; ye may drink it 
an’ I’ll not screech.” 

After Shamus had moistened his lips with 


212 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


the nectar from Hannora’s, he saw Tobe 
sneaking away towards his lair. 

“Stay where ye are, Tobe O’Keefe.” 

“What de ye want wid me, Shamus Roe ? ” 
asked Tobe, as he turned and faced Shamus. 

“I want to tell all here who ye are.” 

“Ah, sure all here knows me well enough,” 
replied Tobe uneasily. 

“Yis,” said Shamus, “as the smilin’ vaga- 
bone o’ the Sack O’ Flour, but not as the 
snakin’ thief who robbed the mill.” 

“ ’Tis a lie boys, ’tis a lie,” screamed Tobe, 
“Shamus Roe only wants to save himself an’ 
Kale Brandon; they’re the thieves, boys, 
they’re the thieves; take thim up.” 

But not a soul moved to lay their hands 
on Neil or Shamus. 

“You know me very well, Mr. Dooley,” 
said the cringing creature to the old miller. 

“Oh, indade I do, Mr. O’Keefe,” replied 
James Dooley, “I know ye very well; but 
divil a much good do I know about ye. ” 

As a last effort to save himself, Tobe ap- 
proached Shamus and whispered in his ear, 
but loud enough for the others to hear, so 
that it would have the desired effect: 

“Ye know well Shamus Roe, that I have a 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


213 


charge agin you that would sind ye to the 
gallows.” 

“Sind me to the gallows ! ” repeated Sham- 
us, as he laughed loudly. 

“Yis, an’ ye want to get me out o’ the way 
so I’ll say nothin’.” 

“Well Tobe, we’ll hear your charge byme- 
by. Now I charge you wid robbin’ the mill. ” 

“Ye lie, ye can’t prove it.” 

“Wait Tobe,” and Shamus called “Danny ! 
Danny ! ” 

“Here I am, Shamus, ” said the little fellow, 
as he appeared in the window of the loft. 
At the sound of his voice, all turned in the 
direction of the mill, and looked at the “mite” 
standing in the window, Tobe with his eyes 
almost bursting out of their sockets. 

“Danny, who robbed the mill?” asked 
Shamus. 

“’Twas my uncle Tobe, sur,” said the 
small voice. 

“Ye lie, ye divil’s toad, ye lie!” roared 
Tobe, as he rushed towards the mill, but was 
held back by the men. 

“Come down here, Danny, come,” said 
Shamus coaxingly. 

“I’m af eared to come down Shamus,’ 


214 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 
replied the boy. 

4 4 An’ well ye may, ” cried the enraged Tobe, 
4 ‘for if I lay my hand upon ye, I’ll skin ye 
alive.” 

“Lave go his hands boys, ’’said Shamus 
to the millers, who had hold of Tobe, “I’ll 
answer for him, that lie’H not lay the weight 
o’ one o’ thim upon that child ; come down 
Danny.” 

Danny descended by aid of the open mill 
door, and ran to the side of Shamus. 

“Now Danny, tell us, what time did the 
robbery take place ? ” 

“’Twas the mid-day hour, Shamus.” 

4 4 An’ where were you, Danny ? ” 

“Above in the loft, sur.” 

“Now, Danny, the coort is open; tell us 
in yer own way (as the liars say) what ye 
heard an’ saw that mid-day hour. ” 

“Well, sur, I heard the bell ring an’ saw 
the min, through a knot-hole near the windy, 
go to their dinner. I was hungry, meself , so 
I got up and looked about to be sure that me 
Uncle Tobe was not to the fore, and couldn’t 
bate me, thin I could go and borry the bite 
to ate. Well, sur, as I stood in the windy 
above who should I see cornin’ from the Sack 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


215 


O’ Flour but my uncle an’ Mr. Ronyane; tliey 
talked about Nale Brandon. Mr. Ronyane 
said he’d keep him long enough away for my 
uncle to do the job, thin he folly ’d Nale down 
the river road an’ my uncle wint in the mill. 
Soon he kem out wid his hands full of money; 
he put it in Nale’s coat an’ said he’d drive 
him out o’ Glanmire in disgrace; thin he 
wint in the Sack O’ Flour.” 

“Thin what did you do, Danny?” asked 
Sliamus. 

“I kem down an’ took the money out o’ 
Nale’s coat for fear he’d be took up for 
stalin’ it.” 

“Where was Nale’ coat?” 

“On the schoolmaster’s cart.” 

‘ ‘And where was the cart, Danny ? ” 

“Just where it is now, sur.” 

As all present knew the location of the 
cart, none of them looked around, so intent 
were they on hearing all that Danny said, 
and they would not remove their eyes from 
him, fearful of losing an expression of his 
face. Had any of them looked towards the 
cart they might have seen the crouching 
form of Abby Creigh listening to every 
word. 


216 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Tell me Danny, ” said the schoolmaster. 
“Was ” 

“Ah,” interrupted Tobe. “What’s the 
use o’ all this catechism. I took the money 
but I didn’t stale it, an’ I dun it all at the 
biddin’ o’ Maurice Ronyane.” 

All turned expecting to hear Ronyane 
deny the accusation, but to their amazement, 
that worthy gentleman was missing. During 
the recital of Danny’s story, like a whipped 
cur, he slunk away and disappeared, leaving 
his confederate, Tobe O’Keefe, to his fate. 

“He’s gone,” said Shamus, as he looked 
around. 

4 After him, boys, after him, ” roared 
Tobe. “Don’t lave him escape. Ketch 
him, ketch him ! ” 

“No,” said Alice Moyne. “Let him go, 
his conscience will punish him enough. ” 

4 ‘Conscience ! He has no conscience, ” 
winced Tobe, “or he wouldn’t lave me here 
like this. He’s as guilty as I am. Thin 
why don’t ye want him took up ? ” 

4 -For his mother’s sake, ” replied Alice. 

“Of course, that’s always the way. Him 
an’ her belongs to the quality below in Cork. 
I’m a poor man an’ must suffer, while he 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


217 


goes free.” 

“You shall also go free,” said Alice, “on 
one condition, and that is that you pack 
what belongs to you in the Sack O’ Flour, 
and with your belongings leave this neighbor- 
hood. If, when that bell strikes six this 
evening you are found in this vicinity, I will 
not be answerable for your freedom. ” 

“Aisy, Miss Alice, aisy,” and Shamus 
stepped forward, “I have a more serious 
charge agin him than the robbery of the 
mill.” 

“Listen all o’ ye to my charge agin him,” 
said Tobe malignantly. 

“Well Tobe,” laughed Shamus, “turn 
about is fair play, what de ye charge me wid. ” 

“The murder o’ Father Owen Creigh, no 
less,” said Tobe spitefully. 

All looked in astonishment at the audac- 
ious wretch who had the assurance to make 
such a charge against everybody’s favorite, 
Shamus Hoe, while the “vagabone” himself 
was convulsed with laughter. 

“Laugh away Shamus Roe,” said Tobe, 
it’ll do ye no good. Look at this, school- 
master.” Tobe took a folded paper from his 
pocket and handed it to Tyler McCabe, 


218 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


“Read it, Mr. McCabe ; I was goin’ to sind it 
by Maurice Ronyane to Cork, but he gave me 
the slip, bad luck to him.” 

The schoolmaster opened the paper, and 
read aloud : 

To the Sheriff of Cork County: — If ye’ll sind at once 
a parcel o’ min up the lower road to the mill o’ Mr. Ronyane, 
I’ll give up to ye, Shamus Roe. He murdered the priest, 
Father Owen, two years ago ; he tould me so. I’ll be lookin’ 
for ye soon. Tobe O’Keefe. 

“What do you mane by this ? ” asked the 
schoolmaster. 

“Ain’t it plane enough?” answered Tobe. 
“I mane that he kilt Father Owen, an’ I’m 
goin’ to have him took up. 

Astonishment at the audacity of Tobe made 
Shamus Roe dumb. 

“Sarch him, schoolmaster,” continued O’- 
Keefe, 4 ‘an ye’ll find a knife upon him. ” 

“A knife !” exclaimed Jerry Roe. 

“Yis,” said Tobe, “sarch him.” 

“What knife are ye talkin’ about man ? ” 
asked Tyler. 

“The knife that kilt Father Owen,” said 
Shamus, as he took it from the waistband of 
his breeches, and held it up. 

There was a cry of horror from the women 
while the men shuddered, as Shamus held 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


219 


the shining blade aloft. 

“Where did ye get that knife Shamus?” 
asked his uncle. 

“There,” said Shamus, as he threw the 
knife on the table. 

“’Tis a lie !” shouted Tobe, “he had it 
wid him ever since the priest was kilt, he 
tould me so.” 

“Who tould ye so?” inquired the school- 
master. 

“Shamus Roe, last night, above on the 
crag. 

4 ‘Wliat wor you doin’ ” 

Shamus interrupted his uncle. 

“Lave him go on, uncle Jurry, I want ye 
all to hear what I tould him ; folly on Tobe, 
what did I tell ye last night on the crag ? ” 

‘ ‘I’ll tell ye the truth, boys, ” said Tobe with- 
out a tremor of the* voice. “I wint up last 
night to the haunted chapel wid Maurice 
Ronyane, to get the book for to show Alice 
Moyne. Whin he wint inside o’ the chapel, 
I staid on the outside for fear anyone’d come, 
an’ I was to warn him. Well, I was there 
for a short spell, whin who should I see be 
the moonlight, cornin’ up the lane, but Sham- 
us Roe. What can he want here at this hour 


220 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


o’ the night say’s I to meself, sure it can’t be 
for any good that he’s cornin’ upon the crag; 
so up I climbs in a tree to watch him ; he 
sat upon the wall just under me, he began to 
smoke his pipe. He was puffin’ away hard 
an’ fast, whin the ould organ inside o’ the 
chapel began to play. That must have 
frightened the life nearly out o’ him, for he 
took to his heels. “Stay where ye are,” says 
I. 4 4 Who are ye ? ” says he, cornin’ to a full 
stop. 4 4 Tlie ghost o’ Father Owen,” says I. 
At that boys, he fell upon his knees, an’ axin’ 
me to forgive him, confessed that it was he 
that dun the murder. That’s the truth, an’ 
I’ll swear to it.” 

“Well, Tobe,” said Shamus, “after that 
I’ll give ye credit for havin’ brass enough to 
swear the horns off the divil’s forehead. 
Listen to me, boys,” and Shamus turned 
towards the millers. 4 ‘That’s the very story 
I was goin’ to tell meself, only that it was I 
that was in the tree, an’ that murtherin 
villain was grovelin in the dust below me ; 
he kilt Father Owen, an’ the knife, his hnife, 
lyin’ on that table is the weapon with which 
it was dun, an’ his hand the hand that 
dun it.” 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


221 


“Don’t believe him, boys, ah, don’t believe 
him,” whined Tobe. 

“Aisy, Mr. O’Keefe,” said Tim Hogan, a 
miller who had over two months' account on 
Tobe’s slate. “We’ve heard your story, an’ 
I think that’s its no more than our juty to 
hould Sliamus Roe till the shiriff comes.” 

“Av course ’tis yer juty, Mr. Hogan,” 
cried Tobe. 

“Take hould o’ him, boys,” said Tobe’s 
friend. There was a movement of two or 
three of the millers towards Shamus as 
Little Danny stepped between him and them. 

“If ye plaze, don’t touch Shamus Roe,” 
said the boy. “It wasn’t him that dun it. 
It was my uncle. Sarch him an’ ye’ll find 
inside o’ his waistcoat the sale ring o' Father 
Owen. 

“Out upon ye, ye imp o’ darkness,” 
screamed Tobe, as he rushed between the 
millers, and ran down the road towards the 
river. 

“Come, boys, lets after him ; don’t lave him 
escape,” shouted Shamus. 

“Stay where ye are, commanded Tyler 
McCabe, as the men were about to follow 
Tobe, “and hear me; don’t be led into any 


222 THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

deed of violence, boys, I believe Tobe O’Keefe 
confessed to Shamus Roe that he done the 
murder, but that confession was done through 
fear, as the superstitious fool thought he 
was talking to a ghost, and no jury in the 
land would convict him on the confession. 

“But the ring,” said Shamus. 

“Is in the river by this time,” replied the 
schoolmaster, “or I don’t know Tobe O’Keefe ; 
he’ll come back, take my word for it ; he’ll 
not desart the Sack O’ Flour, while there’s a 
thing in it that belongs to him. Murder will 
out, boys, and now that we have a clue, we’ll 
folly it up, but we must have stronger proof 
than a confession made through fear.” 

“The schoolmaster’s right,” said Jerry Roe. 
“Go to your dinners boys ; takeyer time over 
yer male. Say nothin’ about what ye heard 
here, an’ we may cage the fox yet. ” 

There was grumbling among some of the 
millers (who were evidently dissatisfied at 
the turn affairs had taken) as they started 
for their respective homes. 

The voice of Molly Duffy, who was stand- 
ing in the cottage door, was heard calling : 

‘ ‘Miss Alice, the dinner’ll spile if ye don’t 
come an’ ate it. ” 


THE MISSING LEAF. 


223 


“Lave it spile,” said Shamus sulkily, out 
of temper with the schoolmaster for prevent- 
ing him from following Tobe. 

“That would be a sin, Shamus,” replied 
Tyler (who never was known to let a dinner 
spile). “Come lave us go, an’ before par- 
takin’ of our noon-day male, lave us humbly 
bow our heads to God, and thank him for 
the many blessin’s he has bestowed on us.” 

In silence, but with joy in their hearts, 
the little party, led by Alice and Neil, entered 
the cottage. 

As the door closed upon them, Abby 
Creigh came from behind the cart, and look- 
ing cautiously around stealthily approached 
the table ; picking up the knife which Shamus 
Roe had thrown there, she concealed it in the 
folds of her shawl, and started down the 
river road in the same direction that Tobe 
O’Keefe had gone. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 

Again did the bell on the old mill give 
forth its sonorous sound, but as yet none of 
the millers (save Paddy, the bellringer) had 
returned to resume their labors, for the reason, 
I suppose, that Jerry Roe had told them to 
“take time over their male.” His friends in 
the cottage were certainly following his ad- 
vice, for none of them had risen from Alice 
Moyne’s table, until they were startled by a 
loud knocking at the cottage door. Neil 
Brandon opened the door, and there found 
James Dooley, pale and trembling, and almost 
out of breath. 

‘ ‘What is it, Dooley, what’s the matter ? ” 
asked Neil. 

“Oh, sur; Mr. Brandon, come some o’ ye 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


225 


quick,” replied Dooley, “Tobe O’Keefe, sur.” 

‘ ‘Has he come back ? ” inquired Shamus, 
as he rushed out of the cottage. 

“No fear o’ him cornin’ back, Shamus,” 
answered Dooley. 

‘ ‘Thin what about him ? ” asked the school- 
master. 

“He’s dead, sur.” 

“Dead!” 

“Yis sur, wid a knife in his heart, below 
on the river’s bank.’” 

“God be merciful to him ! ” exclaimed the 
schoolmaster, as they all followed James 
Dooley down the river road, and there near 
the beautiful river Lee, lay Tobe O’Keefe, 
his own knife buried to the hilt in his heart. 

Next day, the Coronor’s jury returned a 
verdict of suicide. Let us hope that their 
verdict was a truthful one; be that as it 
may. 

After Tobe O’Keefe’s death, the “beautiful 
music” was never heard in the little chapel 
on the crag; nor was poor demented Abby 
Creigh ever seen in or about Glanmire. 

The contents of the Sack O’ Flour (slate 
and all) made a beauty full bonfire for the 
boys. The little cabin stands where it did, 


226 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


but is now used as an office, where the miller 
transacts his business. Peace and plenty to- 
day reign supreme in the vicinity of the 
old mill. Maurice Ronyane is often seen at 
his club in Cork, but he never visits that 
part of Glanmire where we last saw him. 

Con Fagin and Mary Grady are married; 
Nancy is determined to die an old maid, 
while Mrs. Grady still goes out, now an ’ thin, 
to do the bit o’ wasliin’ for the quality. 

After his uncle’s death, Danny was sent 
for a few years to school, and is now head 
man in the mill, taking Neil Brandon’s place. 

In a beautiful cottage on Barrack Hill (in 
the city) lives Neil Brandon (now a prosx^er- 

ous wholesale flour merchant on P k st.) 

and his beautiful wife, Alice. 

Tyler McCabe, the schoolmaster, has gone 
to join Hannora’s mother. 

While our old friend, Jerry Roe, has re- 
tired from business, his only occupation now, 
is to sit in front of his cottage (once Alice 
Moyne’s) and watch Tyler, Alice and Jerry, 
children of Sharnus and Hannora, play upon 
the green. 

The bell rings as usual ; the old wheel re- 
volves as of yore. There is no change about 


THE MILLER OF GLANMIRE. 


227 


the mill, save one ; instead of the sign which 
first greeted your eye, Ronyane & Roe , you 
will now read Shamus Roe , “the Miller of 
Glanmire. ” 


THE END. 


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